THE BLANK BOOK 



OF 



A SMALL COLLEGER. 



" If I am to meet with one of these gentry, pray heaven it 
may be with a Small Colleger." * 

Art of Punning. 




LONDON : 

THOMAS BOYS, 7, LUDGATE HILL. 



MDCCCXXIV. 



t\ 



/ 



C8*- 



6^ 



CONTENTS. 



Great St. Mary's 1 

Trinity College, Cambridge, forty years ago 10 

The Commercial Gentleman 23 

A Life of Trials 3 1 

Four and twenty hours at Emmanuel 41 

Huffey White 49 

A Constitution 59 

English Anomalies 67 

The Green Dragon at Harrogate 73 

The Potts's ! 81 

The Quaker's Burial 89 

The Art of Spelling , 97 

The Heiress in Jeopardy 107 

Anastasia, the Benedictine Nun 115 

Mrs. Reuben Pottle 127 

The Shore Boat 135 



'?■ I know no refutation of cavils, against the Gospel, 
so irresistible as the practice of its professors: nor is there 
on earth so eloquent a sermon on Christianity, as the silent 
lesson of a consistent and spotless example." 

Maturin. 

" He who lives only for himself, will soon be forgotten ; 
but he whose labours aTe directed to the perpetual benefit 
of the community, may well lay claim to immortality as 
his reward." 

Dr % Johnson, 



GREAT ST. MARY'S. 



The foreigner who wishes to see oar National 
Church under a new and interesting aspect, 
should witness the Sunday-afternoon service, at 
Great St. Mary's, Cambridge. The peculiar 
beauty of the building — its rich mahogany in- 
terior, and sombre hue — the solemn and devo- 
tional air which breathes around the whole edifice 
— the Undergraduates in crowded assemblage in 
the gallery — the Fellow Commoners, in all their 
glitter of gold and silver lace, interspersed among 
the Fellows and University Officers in the aisle 
— Golgotha with the Vice-chancellor and heads 
of Colleges frowning in portentous gravity upon 
the crowd below — with, here and there, the 
rarity of a pretty face belonging to some lioniz- 
ing belle, form a coup d'ceil as novel as im- 
posing. 



4 GREAT ST. MARY S. 

The service consists of a Psalm, a Sermon, 
and on certain high days an Anthem. And it 
is not the least stirring of the reflections which 
rush upon the mind, like " so many thick-com- 
ing fancies," on passing the threshold of St. 
Mary's, that its hallowed walls have re-echoed 
the arguments of Paley and Watson, Pearson 
and Barrow ; and have enclosed for praise 
and prayer, at the purest moments of their lives, 
Pitt, and Erskine, and Whitbread, and Romilly, 
and Camden, and Porteus, — names which adorn 
the proudest pages of our annals. 

The Under-graduates themselves form a study. 
Among the group may be discovered the pale, 
absent, hard-reading, mathematical man, who 
comes for the sake of the argument, and the 
easoning, — and this class predominates during 
Bishop Marsh's turn of duty ; — the Classic, and 
Belles lettres' reader, whose aim is to pick up a 
fine idea, or glowing sentiment ; — the Musical 
Amateur whose only object is the Psalm and the 
Voluntary; — and the Lounger, who hopes to wile 
an idle hour away, and perchance smile admira- 
tion at some pretty face below. Even in the 
mode of complying with the etiquette, which re- 
quires the cap to conceal the face during the 
prayer which precedes the Sermon, the different 



GREAT ST. MARY S. O 

bearings of the Students are perceptible. There 
are the strait-forward, plodding, matter of fact 
men, who grasp their cap as a mere point of 
academical discipline, and hold it bolt upright 
before them without looking right or left;— the 
Diffident, who balance it with an uncertain hold, 
and take an anxious look at others to see if they 
themselves are doing right: — the Satirical, who 
are slyly, yet keenly, criticising the devotional 
attitude of their neighbours; — the Simeonites, 
who one and all actually bury their faces in their 
cap ; — the Exquisite, who is striving with all his 
energies to hold his in a graceful attitude; — 
while the Bloods, and Yorkshire Exhibitioners, 
stare on as usual. 

The period at which I am writing, is the inter- 
val between the last course of lectures delivered, 
on the Sunday afternoons, at St. Mary's, by the 
late Hulsean Lecturer Mr, Benson ; and the 
fresh series about to be commenced by his suc- 
cessor Mr. Franks. The former as to popularity 
stands by himself, and indeed may be almost 
considered as the founder of a New School. 
Although, by the will of Mr. Hulse, the dis- 
courses to be delivered by his Lecturer must 
" dwell mainly on the rudiments and mysteries 
of our faith," there never was a University 



6 GREAT ST. MARY S. 

Preacher whose sermons were so numerously 
and constantly attended by the Undergraduates 
as Mr. Benson. Though both able men, the dif- 
ference between the present and late Lecturer is 
very striking. The former preaches as to Infidels, 
the latter as to Christians. Mr. Franks states 
his arguments, and relies on your reason ; Mr. 
Benson appeals to your heart. The first may be 
the most profound scholar : but it is reserved for 
the last to bring all his research to bear upon his 
subject. There is another beauty ? too, in Mr. Ben- 
son's preaching, equally rare and remarkable, — 
he never hunts down an idea. He seizes a strik- 
ing thought or glowing conception ; uses, but 
not exhausts it, — -and, having applied it to his 
purpose, passes on, leaving it in all its originality, 
and vigour, and freshness. His greatest external 
advantage is his voice. It is extremely low and 
soft, and even so weak as to convey the idea of 
great delicacy of constitution in the possessor : 
but at the same time it is so singularly clear, so 
full of harmony, as to be distinctly audible in 
every part of the building. 

His delivery is slow, self-possessed, and solemn; 
— yet strikingly free from the slightest taint of 
pomposity, or affectation. He is totally destitute 
of the adventitious advantages of a fine person 



GREAT ST. MARY S. / 

or graceful action ; but there is an earnestness 
in his manner, that convinces you " his heart is 
in the matter," and makes a demand on your 
attention which it is impossible to resist. His 
persuasive and plaintive voice, and most engag- 
ing delivery, may partly account for his extreme 
popularity ; as well as explain why many who 
have heard his discourses from the pulpit, have 
felt disappointment on perusing them in private. 
As a practical preacher he stands without a rival. 
In the driest arguments he ever has the art of 
introducing passages of such beauty — reflections 
of such practical utility — and sentiments so 
home and so touching — that they stand apart 
like patches of verdure blooming in the midst 
of a desart : — and he is peculiarly happy in 
infusing the virtues of Christian meekness, hu- 
mility, and benevolence, into the sternest and 
most irritating of all subjects — Controversial 
Divinity. 

To his successor, Mr. Franks, hardly any 
of these observations will apply. Mr. Franks' 
voice is shrill, thin — from a blow, it is said, 
from a cricket ball in early life— and so 
highly pitched, as, at times, to appear on the 
point of cracking. Thus he is always enjoyed in 



8 great st. mary's. 

the closet, listened to in the pulpit. On the 
splendour of his materials he rests his fame. 
His delivery is plainer, and the whole style of his 
sermons simpler, than that of his popular prede- 
cessor. But the fruits of long and laborious 
research meet you in every sermon — the whole 
range of divinity seems to have come within his 
grasp — though, occasionally, paraphrases ap- 
pear, which, at first sight, resemble the efforts of 
an " idle man." His chief aim appears to be the 
exposure of the errors of the German School of 
Divinity; and his main anxiety, to warn the 
young Theological Student against a theory, 
built upon nights of fancy, not upon the doc- 
trines of Scripture. 

But to return to Mr. Benson. Those, who 
were present, will long remember his farewell 
discourse, closed with a most touching allusion 
to the crowded and youthful assemblage around 
him, whom he beautifully described, as, " Stand- 
ing upon the confines of youth and manhood, 
with the passions of the one unsubdued, and the 
principles of the other unconfirmed." The 
warmest wishes for his happiness, from those 
whom he has left behind, will accompany him 



great st. mary's. 9 

to his retirement.* Nor will their prayers be 
wanting, that he may long be spared to the 
Church — long watch over her interests and 
defend her doctrines — and that distant, far dis- 
tant, may be the hour, when the tears of a sor- 
rowing University will mourn him as one of her 
departed sons, who devoted their time, their 
acquirements, and their best energies, to promote 
Religion in others — and consecrated their talents 
to the service of their God. 



* Mr. Benson has recently quitted Cambridge for the 
Vicarage of Ledsham, in Yorkshire — a living given him by a 
gentleman, to whom he was an utter stranger except by his 
writings and reputation. 



B2 



TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, 

FORTY YEARS AGO. 



" Bear yourselves, then, as becomes the disciples of a 
Coilege where Newton studied, and Bentley presided.'' 

Monk. 



TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, 

FORTY YEARS AGO. 



It was a lovely morning; a remittance had ar~ 
rived in the very nick of time; my two horses 
were in excellent condition; and I resolved, with 
a College Chum, to put in execution a long con- 
certed scheme of driving to London, tandem. 
We sent our horses forward, got others at Cam- 
bridge, and tossing Algebra and Anacharsis " to 
the dogs," started in high spirits. We ran up 
to London in high style — went ball-pitch to the 
play — and after a quick breakfast at the Bedford, 
set out with our own horses upon a dashing drive 
through the West-End. We were turning- 
down the Haymarket, and anticipating " joys 
yet unknown," when who, to my utter horror 
and consternation, should I see crossing to meet 
us, but my old warmhearted, but severe and 
peppery uncle, Sir Thomas P - n. 



14 TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, 

Escape was impossible. A cart before, and 
two carriages behind, made us stationary, and 
I mentally resigned all idea of ever succeeding 
to Elmwood Hall, and three thousand per an- 
num. Up he came. " What ! can I believe my 
eyes ? George ! why what the d — 1 do you do 

here ? Tandem too, by !" I have it, 

thought I, as an idea crossed my mind. I look- 
ed right and left, as if it were wholly impossi- 
ble that it could be me he was addressing. — 
" What ! you don't know me, 1 suppose ? Don't 
know your own uncle ? Why, in the name of 
common sense — pshaw ! you've done with that — 

Why, in name, Sir,an't you at Cambridge ?" 

" At Cambridge, Sir?" said I. "At Cam- 
bridge, Sir," he repeated, mimicking my affected 
astonishment, " why, I suppose, you never were 
at Cambridge ? Never entered the gates at Tri- 
nity? eh! O! you young spendthrift ; is this 
the way you dispose of my allowance? Is this 
the way you read hard, you young profligate? 
you young graceless — you young — you — !" 
Seeing he was getting energetic, I began to 
be apprehensive of a scene, and resolved to drop 
the curtain at once. " Really, Sir," said I, 
with as brazen a look as I could summon upon 
an emergency, " I have not the honor of your 



FORTY YEARS AGO. 15 

acquaintance !" His large eyes assumed a fixed 
stare of astonishment — " Excuse me, but, to my 
knowledge, I never saw you before."-— He began 
to fidget. — " Make no apologies : they are unne- 
cessary. Your next rencontre will, I hope, be 
more fortunate. You will find your country cou- 
sin, no doubt, in Green Street; and so, old 
buck, bye bye." The cart was removed, and 
we drove off, yet not without seeing him, in a 
paroxysm of rage, half frightful, half ludicrous, 
toss his hat on the ground, and hearing him ex- 
claim : — " He disowns me ! the jackanapes ! dis- 
owns his own uncle, by ." 

Phil. Chichester's look of amazement at this 
finished stroke of impudence is present, at this 
instant, to my memory, I think I see his face, 
which at no time had more expression than a 
turnip, assume that air of a pensive simpleton, 
d'nn mouton qui rive, which he so often and so 
successfully exhibited over a quadratic equation. 
" Well, George, what's to be done now? We're 
dished— dished — utterly dished." — " Not while 
I've two such tits as these fresh, Phil," was my 
reply. " So ad ieu to town, and hey for Cambridge." 
— " Cambridge ?" — " Instantly — not a moment to 
be lost. My uncle will post there with four 
horses, immediately; and my only chance of 



16 TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, 

avoiding that romantic misfortune, of being cut 
off with a shilling", is to be there before him." 

Without settling our bill at the inn, or making 
a single arrangement, we rattled back to Cam- 
bridge. Never shall I forget the mental anxiety 
which I endured on my way there. Every thing 
was against us. A heavy rain had fallen in the 
night, and the roads were wretched. The traces 
broke — turnpike gates were shut — droves of 
sheep and strings of carts impeded our progress: 
but, in spite of all these obstacles, we reached 
the College gates in less than six hours. c< Has 
Sir Thomas been here ?" 1 inquired of the porter, 
with ill concealed emotion. " No, Sir." Phil 
iC thanked God, and took courage." " If he 
does, tell him so and so," said I, giving veracious 
Joseph his instructions, and putting a guinea 
into his hand to sharpen his memory. " Phil, my 
dear fellow, don't show your face out of College 
for this fortnight. You twig? Good. 
" Permit te Divis coetera" — 

I had barely time to change my dress, to have 
my toga and trencher beside me, Newton and 
Euripides before me, Optics, Mechanics, and 
Hydrostatics strewed in learned confusion around 
me, when my uncle drove up to the gate. " Por- 
ter, I wish to see Mr. P n; is he in his 



FORTY YEARS AGO. 17 

rooms V — " Yes, Sir, I took a parcel of books to 
him there ten minutes ago !" This was not the 
first bouncer the Essence of Truth, as Thomas 
was known through College, had told for me ; 
nor the last he was well paid for. 

" Reads very hard, I dare say ?" observed the 
Baronet, in his soft, winning voice. " No doubt 
of that, I believe, Sir/' — "You audacious varlet! 
how dare you look me in the face, and tell such 
a falsehood ? You know he's not in Cambridge. " 

— " Not in Cambridge? Sir, as I hope -." 

" None of your hopes or fears to me. Show me 
his rooms, I say, and show me himself/' — He had 
now reached my staircase, and never shall I for- 
get his look of astonishment, of amazement bor- 
dering upon incredulity, when I calmly came 
forward, took his hand, and welcomed him to 
Cambridge. 

" My dear Sir, how are you ? What lucky 
wind has blown you here V* 

" What! George! who — what — why — Ecod, 
I must be dreaming." 

" How happy 1 am to see you." I ran on. 
u How kind of you to come ! How well you're 
looking!" 

u Eh ! what ? D — n if I know where I am ! 
Why, it is not possible ! Good Lord, how peo- 



18 TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, 

pie may be deceived! My dear George'' — speak- 
ing rapidly — "I met two fellows, in a tandem, in 
the Haymarket, one of them so like you in every 
particular, that I hailed him at once. The puppy 
disowned me — affected to make a jest of me — 
and drove off. On my soul, my hair stood on 
end, and my blood was in a boil! I drove 
down directly with four horses to tell your Tutor, 
to tell the Master, to tell the whole College that 
I would have nothing more to do with you ; that 
I would be responsible for your debts no longer ; 
to enclose you fifty pounds, and disown you for 
ever/' 

" My dear Sir, how singular 1" 

" Singular? I wonder at perjury no longer, 
for my part. I would have gone into any Court 
of justice, and have taken my oath it was you. 
I never saw such a likeness ! Your father and 
the fellow's mother were well acquainted, or I'm 
mistaken. The air, the height, the voice, all 

but the manner, and, d e, that was not yours. 

No — no — you never would have treated your old 
uncle so." 

" How rejoiced I am that " 

u Rejoiced? So am I. I would not but have 
been undeceived for a thousand guineas. No- 
thing but seeing you here so quiet, so studi- 



FORTY YEARS AGO. 19 

ous, so immersed in Mathematics, would have 
convinced me. Ecod, I can't tell you how I 
was startled ! I had been told some queer sto- 
ries, to be sure, about your Cambridge etiquette. 
I heard that two Cambridge men, one of Trinity, 
the other of St. Johns, had met on the top of 
Vesuvius, and that though they knew each other 
by name and reputation, yet never having been 
formally introduced, like two simpletons they 
looked at each other in silence, and left the 
mountain separately, and without speaking.— 
And it was only last week that cracked fellow- 
commoner, Meadows, shewed me a caricature 
taken from the life, representing a Cantab drown- 
ing, and another Gownsman standing on the 
brink, exclaiming : — ' Oh, that I had the honor 
of being introduced to that man, that I might 

have taken the liberty of saving him F But it, 

thought I, he never would carry it so far with 
his own uncle. — I never heard that your father 
was a gay man." (continued he, musing) " but as 

you sit in that light, the likeness is ." I 

moved instantly. — "Butit's impossible, you know, 
it's impossible. Come, my dear boy, come. — 
People, though electrified, must dine. Who 
could he be? Never were two people so 
alike !" 



20 TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, 

We dined at the inn, spent the evening toge- 
ther, and instead of the fifty, the " last fifty" 
he generously gave me a draft for three times 
the amount. He left Cambridge the next morn- 
ing, and his last words were, as he entered his 
carriage, " My brother was a handsome man, 
and there was a Lady Somebody, who the world 
said was partial to him. — She may have a son. 
Most surprising likeness ! God bless you ! — 
Read hard, you young dog, read hard. Like as 

two brothers ! Who the d— -1 could he be ?" 

I never saw him again. 

His death, which happened a few months af- 
terwards, in consequence of his being bit in a 
bet, contracted when he was " a little elevated/' 
left me the heir to his fine estate ; I wish I could 
add, to his many and noble virtues. I do not 
attempt to palliate deception. It is always cri- 
minal. But, I am sure, no severity, no repri- 
mand, no reproaches, would have had half the 
effect which his kindness, his confidence, and 
his generosity wrought on me. It reformed me 
thoroughly, and at once. I did not see Lon- 
don again till I had graduated : and if my de- 
gree was unaccompanied by brilliant honors, 
it did not disgrace my uncle's liberality, or his 
name. Many years have elapsed since our 



FORTY YEARS AGO. 21 

last interview, but I never reflect on it with- 
out pain and pleasure — pain, that our last in- 
tercourse on earth should have been marked 
by circumstances of the grossest deception : 
and pleasure, — that the serious reflections it 
awakened, cured me for ever of all wish to 
deceive, and made the open and strait forward 
path of life, that of 

The Sexagenarian. 



THE 

COMMERCIAL GENTLEMAN, 



" Heu ! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui 
meminisse." 



THE 



COMMERCIAL GENTLEMAN. 



It was during a tour in the West of England, in 
the long vacation, that a college friend and my- 
self put up at an Inn at Falmouth, frequented by 
Commercial Gentlemen. Anxious to see 
life in all its varieties, we entered the Traveller's 
room, the only inmate of which was a fat, bustling, 
red-faced, self-important gentleman, who was 
devouring oysters with all his energies. My 
waggish friend, Waters, ever on the watch for a 
joke, at once accosted him : — " you are fond of 
oysters, I presume, Sir ?"— " Very, Sir/' and he 
swallowed with a smack the last of six dozen. — 
" Far be it from me to alarm you, Sir," returned 
the other with a countenance of the deepest con- 
cern — "but I own I feel surprised at your par- 
tiality for Falmouth oysters. You are of course 
aware, that, in consequence of the vicinity to the 



26 THE COMMERCIAL GENTLEMAN. 

mines, they contain a portion of poisonous me- 
tallic substance, which causes sickness and 
swelling, and sometimes even death in the oyster 
eater/' " Metallic substance ! poisonous vici- 
nity !" returned the man of journeys, pettishly : — 
" I've eaten many a barrel of oysters in my time, 
Sir, and" — " I hope you'll eat many more," inter- 
rupted Waters, " though, upon my soul, I doubt 
it. However, au revoir ;" and we left him for a 
stroll about the town. 

On our return to supper after an hour's ramble, 
we found the Commercial Gentleman pacing up 
and down the room, — " non passibus sequis," — 
and evidently awaiting, with some anxiety, our 
re-appearance. " Sir," said he to Waters, in the 
most silvery tones, " I have been considering 
what you told me, and — and — I feel rather — 
queer." " Now don't let me alarm you," said W. 
with his most imperturbable face, " but we re- 
marked to each other, as we entered the room, 
that your countenance was perceptibly altered." 
" Now are you serious ? Oh dear ! what shall I 
do ? Do advise me !" — " Call in a medical man 
directly ,"*s aid the wag, " and that no time may be 
lost, I myself will be the messenger." 

He soon found a " Country Practitioner/' 
whom he summoned to see " a friend of his, of 



THE COMMERCIAL GENTLEMAN. 27 

very shattered nerves, who fancied himself poi- 
soned by eating a few oysters !" The affair in 
consequence took a new turn. After Mr. Gob- 
blestone had detailed his case with the utmost 
earnestness, " Yes, yes," says the Doctor to us 
in a whisper, " I see very clearly how matters 
stand. Evidently disordered in the brain. Wrong 
here/' and he tapped in the most knowing man- 
ner his own bald pericranium. " I'll humour him ! 
That's my line of practice ! I'll humour him !" 
To the patient with a smile he continued, " yes, 
Sir, yes, Cornish oysters are most pernicious — 
highly pernicious — fatally pernicious ; you must 
be bled without delay ; a blister to-morrow if 
necessary ; a cooling draught on going to-bed ; 
and I shall send a mixture to be taken every 
three hours." 

The Commercial Gentleman was then bled, 
and hurried off to his pillow ; while Waters deter- 
mined to keep up the joke; while assisting him 
to undress, secreted his waistcoat: we then had 
the broad back taken out, and a very narrow one 
substituted. Early the next morning I made a 
point of seeing the invalid. " I hope you are bet- 
ter, Mr. Gobblestone ?" — " O ! I am as well as ever 
I was in my life. It was all a joke, wasn't it?" 
said he, with what was meant to be an insinuating 



28 THE COMMERCIAL GENTLEMAN. 

smile, " I knew it was all a joke. Ha! ha! ha!" 
" Well, I hope you'll find it such," said 1, slyly 
depositing the waistcoat and making my exit. 

We had hardly begun breakfast when the un- 
fortunate Londoner rushed in : — his eyes staring 
— his teeth chattering — and desperation marked 
on every feature. " I'm a dead man — poisoned — 
done for — gone. Look! my waistcoat, that I 
pulled off with ease last night, won't meet any 
where by three inches this morning. Oh ! I see 
it plainly — my hours are numbered, and I'm to 
be another victim to these fatal oysters. Yes — 
from the first moment you mentioned it, I was 
sure it was all over with me. I feel myself 
swelling every minute. Help ! Help ! 
send for the surgeon — but it's in vain. I'm be- 
yond the reach of medicine! O dear! O dear! 
how very, very hard to die in this out-o'-the-way 
place, and all for the sake of a few oysters ! For 
God's sake, gentlemen, take pity on a dying 
man ! my life's invaluable to the firm. How long 
d'ye think I shall live ? Have I time to make my 
will? Think of the firm! what ivill they say, 
when they think of my untimely end ? I'm going 
— I feel it— my breath's leaving me. Help ! I 
say, help ! " 



THE COMMERCIAL GENTLEMAN. 29 

The joke was now become serious, for the 
Commercial Gentleman was black in the face, 
and we determined on telling him the truth. — 
He listened to us with glistening eyes ; at the 
conclusion, smiled in the most ghastly manner ; 
and then rushed precipitately from the room. — 
A full quarter of an hour was spent in incessant 
roars of laughter, and when that time had elapsed, 
we sought him with the landlady ; she told us 
that on leaving the room he had called for his 
bill, — ■" settled it like a lord," — ordered a chaise 
— and quitted the town. The recollection of his 
lovely countenance when he left us ; half a doz- 
en empty phials ; a cooling mixture ; an empty 
pill box ; and some saline draughts ; were all we 
had to console us, for a surgeon's bill of three 
guineas, the sum we had the pleasure of paying 
for our hoax on the Commercial Gentleman. 



A LIFE OF TRIALS. 



" Human life is indeed a state in which much is to be 
endured, and little to be enjoyed ; and I have been early 
taught that this world is not my home, is not my Canaan ; 
and ought I then to murmur if, in my pilgrimage through the 
desart, the fruits and flowers of Eden are denied me ?" 

Anonymous. 



A LIFE OF TRIALS. 



I have this day completed my ninetieth year.— 
It may fairly be supposed that vanity has nothing 
to do with one who is faltering on the brink of 
the grave ; and that she can have little in view, 
save the instruction of others, in detailing two of 
the trials of a strange and chequered existence. 
The first may teach the younger part of my sex, 
in this age of over-refinement, that if courage be 
indispensable to bold, enterprising man, — self- 
possession is no less necessary to timid, shrinking 
woman ; and my second, that if anatomical ex- 
posure be the nurse — and I believe it — of medical 
science, caution should be used in the selection 
of objects, and discrimination in the choice of 
those who are to participate in its disclosures. 
And thus, when my feeble voice will be heard in 
this world no longer, I may instruct from my 
grave. 

c 2 



34 A LIFE OF TRIALS. 

I was a girl of eighteen when my father was 
Governor of York Castle. A murder, attended 
with circumstances of the most inhuman barba- 
rity, had been perpetrated in our neighbourhood, 
and an old man with his two sons, charged with 
the commission of the crime, were delivered into 
is custody. By accident I witnessed their being 
brought into the Castle. Years have passed 
away, and other events have succeeded ; joy and 
sorrow, affluence and poverty, like storm and 
sunshine, have chased each other ; foreign scenes 
and foreign faces have intervened; but I see 
them before me now — in the deep gloom of mid- 
night in which I am writing — as clear, aye, as if 
they were standing in life before me ! The hard- 
ened ruthless look of the elder murderer — his 
venerable hoary hair frightfully contrasted by the 
expression of his countenance — his cold gray 
eye, which glanced incessantly around with the 
most fearful and restless anxiety — his parched 
lips and haggard look, sadly at variance with his 
bent form and tottering gait : — all combined to 
form a picture, which, once seen, could never be 
forgotten. The two sons stood behind their fa- 
ther. The eldest appeared stern and sullen — 
muttered an incoherent answer when asked what 
injury he had received from his victim — while an 



A LIFE OF TRIALS. 35 

expression of vindictive triumph glared in his 
eye; the youngest seemed bowed down with the 
consciousness of guilt, and kept his eyes fixed 
sadly on the ground. Once only he raised them. 
They encountered the old man's penetrating 
glance, and sunk beneath it. 

Deposition, after deposition, was drawn out, 
and such a mass of circumstantial evidence ac- 
cumulated, that it was hardly possible to doubt 
their guilt. The trial was to come on in the 
course of ten days ; but in the interim a com- 
mittee of the House of Commons required my 
father's presence in town, and I was left in charge 
of the castle. It was a responsibility which I 
had incurred before, and it did not appear for- 
midable. I was surrounded by trusty and tried 
servants, and having always been taught to rely 
on my own courage and resolution in exigencies, 
I entered upon my duties without fear. The keys 
of the different wards were brought me, every 
night, and remained under my pillow till morn- 
ing ; and that my father's room might be kept 
perfectly aired, I removed to it the evening after 
his departure. Things went on smoothly for 
some days, till, one morning, I was told that the 
eldest Welsford was not to be found, and was 



36 A LIFE OF TRIALS. \ 

supposed to have made his escape. Placards 
were posted over York without delay — large re- 
wards offered for his apprehension — officers and 
constables despatched in all directions — but 
without success. Eight and forty hours elapsed 
and no tidings were procured of him. How he 
had escaped — and to what retreat he had fled — 
was as much a secret as ever. 

In this annoying posture of affairs, I went to 
my own room, in the evening of the second day, 
for some papers I wished to consult. I had 
opened my desk, and was busily prosecuting my 
search, when, happening to glance my eye round, 
I distinctly saw the face of a man cautiously 
peeping over the furniture of my bed. I felt it 
was Welsford's ! My first impulse was to scream, 
but recollecting that I was alone — in a distant 
part of the house — that all assistance was beyond 
my reach — that the faintest shriek would seal my 
doom — I hastily smothered my emotion, and 
continued my search as before. I confess I 
trembled : — -and thinking my death blow might 
be dealt from behind, I determined on having 
what little notice I could; and facing my foe, 
I drew my chair fronting the bed, and read a 
letter — my voice, I know, faltered — aloud. I 



A LIFE OF TRIALS. 37 

then sung for a few moments — very faintly I 
believe ! — till, gradually getting nearer and near- 
er the door, I made a grasp at the lock, and 
rushed out- I trust I felt as grateful as I ought 
towards a merciful Providence, when I locked 
the door upon the Felon ! 

The turnkeys were then summoned — the fu- 
gitive was taken — secured — and, a few hours 
afterwards, condemned. On the night preceding 
his execution he made a full confession. After 
admitting the justice of his sentence, he continu- 
ed,— that having discovered by accident his cell 
joined my apartment, and knowing the keys 
were given me, nightly, he had climbed up one 
chimney, and let himself down by another into 
my room ; that his design was to have murdered 
me— possessed himself of the keys — and escap- 
ed ; that during the two whole days he was 
missing, he had lain concealed in my room, 
enduring — as he himself expressed it — -" between 
hunger and disappointment, the torments of the 
damned/' He added, he " thought himself in 
heaven when he at last saw me enter : and though 
I had not the keys with me would have then 
despatched me, but that he was sure from my 
manner and stay, I had no suspicion he was near 



38 A LIFE OF TRIALS. 

me !" How closely did I hover on the confines of 
the other world ! — A sound, nay even a look, 

and I should have been in eternity ! 

******* 

I pass over many years in which I was launch- 
ed on the stormy sea of sorrow, and buffeted 
with its waves — and hasten to my last trial. I 
had seen the light turf strewn over my father and 
five brothers ; — one, only one, the youngest, and 
my favourite, survived. The death of the others 
had only knitted us more strongly together, and 
made us all the world to each other. After 
having received a thoroughly medical education, 
he was on the point of entering into partnership, 
when my mother's death recalled him to York. 
Her loved form had been deposited in its narrow 
dwelling, and he was about to return to town, 
when a friend requested him to demonstrate on a 
subject, and three days after ..the funeral he con- 
sented to do so. He went to the Infirmary — 
his instruments were ready — and every prepara- 
tion had been made — but when the cloth which 
covered the body was removed, he recognised 
his — own mother ! The empire of reason was at 
an end. He rushed from the room a maniac ! 

I am now an isolated being. Of a large and 



A LIFE OF TRIALS. 39 

happy family, I remain the solitary survivor. 
But do I complain ? do I repine ? Oh no ! Roses 
have been scattered among the thorns which have 
strewed my path thro' life ; and, feeling that my 
connection with earth and its illusions will be 
shortly closed, I look forward to the period 
when the storms and tempests, that have de- 
formed the evening of my days, will be succeeded 
by the never-failing pleasures of eternal spring. 

Rachel. 



FOUR AND TWENTY HOURS 



EMMANUEL. 



" The stage is a more general profession than is commonly 
supposed ; for, if the matter were fully investigated, it would 
be found we are, all of us, more or less — actors." 

Bishop Horsley. 



FOUR AND TWENTY HOURS 



EMMANUEL. 



It was in my Freshman's term that I returned 
the visit of a Non-reading Man, the morning 
after a wine-party in his rooms. The scene was 
completely metamorphosed. The prints — of a 
somewhat equivocal description — which had so 
conspicuously adorned the walls on the preceding 
evening, had given place to a portrait of Hunt- 
ington, some miserable daubs from The Pilgrim's 
Progress, and a plan of the New Jerusalem ; — 
in his bookcase, instead of The Sporting Maga- 
zine and The Racing Calendar, were Hervey's 
Meditations and Mason on Self- Knowledge ; while 
an immense Family Bible lay upon the table, — 
" I certainly have made a mistake/' thought I — 
I am rather near-sighted — and was retiring in 
precipitation, when Hollis, who had been enjoy- 



44 FOUR AND TWENTY HOURS 

ing my amazement, welcomed me with a roar of 
laughter. " Ask no questions/' said he; " the 
Governor is coming." — " The Governor of what?" 
— " Why, of me : who, in Heaven's name, should 
the Governor be but my Dad ? Hush ! here he 
is," So saying, he put a folio on Original Sin 
into my hands, — armed himself with The Whole 
Duty of Man, — and pulled a face which might 
have followed a funeral. 

A stick, at measured intervals, was now heard 
along the passage, and a little, short, thickset 
man, in a snuff-coloured coat and pepper-and- 
salt small-clothes, made his appearance. In de- 
spite of a nose shaped like the ace of spades, 
and a starch Calvinistic kind of visage, his face 
was strongly indicative of good humour ; and his 
whole air was that of a substantial gentleman far- 
mer — who " was well to do in the world," — " Ah, 
my dear Bob ! how are you, my boy ? how are 
you ? — Just as I expected ! hard at it. Nothing 
like learning ! Right, Bob ! right ! — Divinity, 
eh ? Divinity ? Baxter, Bob ? or Barrow on the 
Ten Virgins? But who is that?" said he, in a 
whisper, perceiving me, — " That ? Oh ! that's a 
most profound scholar — mathematical to the 
Enth ! a man of ' Platonics versus Peripneumo- 
nics.'" — " Eh? O! I understand — you mean 



AT EMMANUEL. 45 

he'll wrangle — may be a Fellow, perhaps, or a 
Head ?"— " Beyond doubt," replied Hollis with 
the most whimsical gravity. 

" Sir," said the Governor to me with a bow as 
low as the table, " I'm proud to see you. I'm 
not much of a scholar myself — but I worship a 
learned man. Now our Vicar was a great man 
here; and says I to him, last tithe-day, ' Your 
Reverence's sermons are main good ; but per- 
haps you would give us a little bit of Latin— or 
Greek — or even Hebrew — now and then?'— Dr. 
Dolittle stared, and said, ' Why, if I should, 
Mr. Hollis, I fear you would not understand it.' 
— ' No matter for that, your Reverence/ says I; 
i no matter for that : we pays for the best, and 
we ought to have it !' — But you'll dine with Bob 
to-day ?" stopping short in his story. I bowed 
assent — for speaking was out of the question — 
and hurrie I off. 

The dinner hour came, and shortly after we 
were seated the old boy struck up " Bob, where's 
your wine ?" — " Wine, Sir !" says Bob, with a 
face of the most whimsical solemnity — " I hope 
you didn't expect to see wine in my rooms. Oh 
dear, no! Consider the times, Sir." — ■" Right, 
Bob ! right. The times are fri — ghtful, mo — n- 
strous ; but my digestion requires a glass, not- 



46 FOUR AND TWENTY HOURS 

withstanding. I'll send for a bottle of white and 
a bottle of red. I will. Hang it, I will. You 
shall have a glass of wine as a treat !" — The 
idea of a glass of wine being a treat to a man who 
thought six dozen a Term short allowance, I 
thought would have made my beef- steak choak 
me ; — while Hollis was actually black in the face. 
The wine came, and quickly disappeared. As 
we emptied the second bottle, u Well," says the 
Governor, " considering you are not used to 
wine, you seem to stand it remarkably well ! But 
you sha'nt have dry rooms, Bob, for I'll send 
you a dozen ! And here's a bill for twenty. Take 
care of it — it's a monst — rous sum in these days, 
Mr. Robert Hollis ;" and he screwed up his 
mouth as if his wine had been vinegar. " But, 
come — I must start. Stick close to Baxter, my 
boy, and I'll send you — Jeremy Taylor next week." 

We accompanied the old gentleman to the 
Black Bear, and saw him fairly started. " There 
goes a slow coach," said Hollis ; " but a kinder 
father" — and a glow of affectionate gratitude 
lighted up his face — "never son had. Come, 
my boy, we'll return and drink his health in cla- 
ret; and may he keep me out of ( The Elms' 
these thirty years !" 

A question respecting lectures obliged me to 



AT EMMANUEL. 47 

go to his rooms four and twenty hours afterwards 
— but what a change had that interval produced ! 
In the absence of Hollis, some son of fun, " in 
beer," had put the whole room in confusion. 
The chairs were piled on the tables — the carpets 
were rolled up in a cupboard — the pictures were 
turned with their faces to the wall — and not 
a book of any description was to be seen. But 
the arrangement of his busts — his choice and 
favourite busts — was the most singular. The 
Duke of Wellington was reading The Examiner 
in a white surplice — Cleopatra wore a pair of 
striped corduroy breeches — while the Venus de 
Medicis was in bed with Sir Walter Scott ! 

Laughable as was the scene, it gave rise to 
deeper impressions. Creatures of change even 
in trifles, what mutability surrounds us ! But is 
not a father too dear, too hallowed, an object to 
be dissembled with ? Are not his very foibles to 
be held sacred ? And when the intoxication of 
youth has subsided, and the summits of calmer 
affections begin to appear — when the animal spi- 
rits of the boy have given place to the cool, dis- 
passionate suggestions of the man — will the most 
harmless dissimulation be reflected on with plea- 
sure ? On the contrary, shall we not remember, 
with pain, every instance of filial deception — when 



48 TOUR AND TWENTY HOURS, &C. 

a marble monument — a fading portrait— and the 
oaks he planted — are all that remain of the being 
who gave us birth? 

E. 



HUFFEY WHITE. 



' kerne! uisauivimus omue*/ 



HUFFEY WHITE. 



It was the beginning of the year 1821, that, for 
my sins, I was travelling in the north mail to 
Lincoln. My companion was a " scion of a 
noble stock," and a soi-disant invalid : so tena- 
cious of descent, that, as Boniface said of his 
ale, he eat, drank, slept, lived, and died upon 
his " family ;" and was withal one of those tire- 
some, prosing, disconsolate, hearty old bachelors 
who are afflicted with more diseases than the 
College of Physicians is acquainted with. Our 
only other fellow-passenger was " eloquent in 
silence ;" for we heard his voice for the first 
time, when we parted at Market Harborough, 
where he wished Mr. Plantagenet better health, 
satirically adding, that he " blessed God he 
had a good constitution, and no nonsense 
about him." 



52 HUFFEY WHITE. 

An influx of strangers, arising from a county 
election, obliged us to put up with a double- 
bedded room. Mr. P. had taken his nightly 
allowance — a posset, some caudle, and a basin 
of water-gruel : — had arranged his toast and 
water on one side, and his lemonade on the other, 
— had applied hot bottles to his feet, and warm 
pillows to his head — and, having exhausted every 
waiter within his reach, was at last in a state of 
quiescence, when a thundering rap was heard at 
the door. H You can't come in/' said Mr. P. 
faintly, from under the clothes, as he saw me 
about to unbar the door, " the cold air," he 
observed in a smothered voice — " would be 
fatal to me at this time of night." " You 
can't come in," he repeated in a shriller key. 
" But we will," was reiterated outside. " You 
will! what drunken vagabond is this? Fellow, 
do you know?" — " Don't jabber to us, you old 
sinner; but unbolt the door."—- " God bless me !" 
cried the hypochondriac, " can I believe my 
ears? An old sinner! There must be some mis- 
take which" — " We'll burst the pannels," inter- 
rupted the assailants. — " Oh ! this is unbearable. 
Give me my flannel gown. I'll leave the Inn 

instantly." — " Force the door, Jack, I say, d 

me force the door, or the old one will get off." 



HUFFEY WHITE. 53 

And, our assailants suiting lustily the action to 
the word ? the staples gave way with a crash — 
two constables entered with a warrant — desired 
my unfortunate friend to surrender — and instantly 
appear before a magistrate ! 

" Gentlemen," said the Honourable Athelstan 
with all the dignity he could assume in his night 
cap, " this may be an excellent joke to you, but 
I happen to be a man of influence, and bitterly 
shall you repent it. It is clear you don't know 
me," — u Oh, but we do ; and a devil of a chace 
you've given us. So now turn out." — u If I don't 
have you tried for assault and battery, at the 
Old Bailey, may I never sleep again," replied 
Athelstan. At this juncture I interposed, and 
discovered, with amazement, that my illustriously 
allied friend was taken to be Huffey White ; that 
a warrant had been issued against him in that 
character ; and that it was indispensably neces- 
sary he should forthwith appear before Colonel 
Clavering, the County Magistrate. I see him 
standing before me, as I, with the utmost diffi- 
culty, explained the circumstance. I seem again 
to witness his astonishment, his obstinacy in 
declaring it impossible. " I won't believe it ! A 
man of my station in life, — of my connexions, — 
of my appearance," — and he sat bolt-upright in 



54 HUFFEY WHITE. 

bed — " to be taken for a Highwayman! It's 
out of the course of nature :" — and he took a 
draught- of lemonade. — "Hardly sweet enough 
— so— good people" — he resumed — ic from this 
place I won't stir. Were I not in bed, I'd soon 
— however, I shall to-morrow avenge this insult, 
and visit with the law my aggressors. Settle 
it with them, E — " he observed to me — " settle it 
with them ;" — and carefully closing the cur- 
tains, he turned on his other side, and disap- 
peared in the feather-bed. 

" Ha! Ha! Ha! Blow me, if that's bad—" 
said the first constable — " but it won't do, old one, 
it won't do. This is a fifty-guinea job; and 
d'ye think we're such flats, when we have you so 
snug, as to let you slip tether for a bit of blar- 
ney? No, no. Come, Jack — " and they simul- 
taneously tore off the clothes, and placed the 
Duke of Cardigan's cousin bolt upright on his 
legs in the middle of the apartment. — My inter- 
ference was again indispensable. Plantagenet 
suffered himself to be dressed in silence ; and I, 
having previously prepared myself with docu- 
ments for rectifying the mistake, accompanied 
him and his attendant constables to the magis- 
trates. Huffey was speechless. Even con- 
cern for his health, and his natural dread of a 



HUFFEY WHITE. 55 

draught, were forgotten. He looked around him, 
occasionally, with the air of a man awaking 
from a painful dream, but not a sound escaped 
him. On our arrival at Colonel Clavering's, a few 
minutes' conversation, and the production of 
some papers, soon rescued the noble Athelstan 
from the charge of being a footpad. It appeared, 
that after committing various robberies in the 
neighbourhood, the County Magistrates had as- 
certained Huffey to have quitted London by the 
Lincoln mail — that a warrant had been issued 
out against him in consequence — and that the 
same description applying to both parties, my 
hapless friend had been apprehended for the 
hardy highwayman. Beyond doubt, our silent 
fellow passenger, " who had no nonsense about 
him," had been— Huffey White ! 

Many and sincere apologies were made for the 
mistake ; but Mr. P. resolutely declared he should 
never survive it. "At my time of life I — a man of 
my family to be taken for a common footpad ! — 
Say no more ; my death warrant is sealed." 
Neither argument, nor raillery, could remove the 
impression. " You are very good," was his re- 
ply to a hope Colonel Clavering had expressed, 
they should meet again, and often hereafter, — 



56 HUFFEY WHITE. 

u - but" — and his countenance assumed a most 
dolorous expression, — " I am now bound upon 
my last journey." Our hospitable host detained 
us that night, and the next morning Mr. P. re- 
sumed his route. But he was still haunted by 
the same idea. When in his carriage, he replied, 
with a wave of his white handkerchief, to some 
badinage from his fair hostess, respecting a future 

Mrs. Plantagenet " Many thanks, Madam ; 

but earthly feelings are at rest with me. I am 
hastening to a world— (his voice went off in a 
quaver) — where there is neither marrying nor giv- 
ing in marriage. Colonel Clavering, farewell ! 
You look for the last time on Athelstan Planta- 
genet. All is over. Drive on." 
. The gentle reader, perhaps, will smile at hear- 
ing, that maladie imaginaire very shortly had her 
triumph. Whether cold, over-exertion, excited 
feelings, or hypochondriacism, produced the 
event, is uncertain : but a few weeks afterwards 
the County paper announced the death, at the 
mansion of his noble relative, of the Honorable 
Athelstan Plantagenet, uncle to the late, and 
cousin to the present, Duke of Cardigan ; M. A., 
F. R. S., F. L, S.— and, thinks I to myself, A. S.S. 
Time, however, and the cares of maturer 



HUFFEY WHITE. 57 

life had almost effaced the circumstance 
from my recollection, till, on passing through 
Northampton, I was shown, in the corner of a 
country church-yard, " Huffey White's grave.'' 
It is on record, that this terror to nervous ladies 
and elderly gentlemen, after his last exploit of 
robbing the North mail, was tried, condemned, 
and executed in this very town j and afterwards, 
by the entreaties of his friends, — who for many 
nights watched around his grave, — buried in the 
church-yard of St. Giles, the parish in which the 
gaol is situated. To the last, the same daring, 
reckless, spirit displayed itself, which had cha- 
racterized him through life. On his way to ex- 
ecution, he snatched an orange from the basket 
of a woman who stood near the foot of the gal- 
lows ; and on the platform replied to the devo- 
tions of his fellow-sufferer — i( Come ! look sharp 
—let's be off." 

The corner is almost concealed from public 
gaze, and wholly appropriated to the remains of 
malefactors. The spot is lonely and quiet — the 
grass grows green and fresh o'er his grave — but 
Superstition has cast her halo around it : and 
the peasant, in the hour of twilight, will take any 
other path than that which runs beside it — will 
d 2 



58 HUFFEY WHITE. 

whistle — will sing — will tix his eye on any object, 
however distant and uninteresting — and feels 
happy and relieved, when he leaves the spot be- 
hind him, where, beneath the sod, moulder the 
remains of this Prince of Footpads. 

E. 



A CONSTITUTION. 






fc 



" Democritus was a wiser man than Heraclitus. They are 
the wisest and the happiest who can pass through life as a 
play — who, without making a farce of it, and turning every 
thing into ridicule, or running into the opposite extreme of 
tragedy, consider the whole period, from the cradle to the 
coffin, as a well-bred comedy, and maintain a cheerful smile 
to the last." 

Anonymous. 



A CONSTITUTION. 



What a blessed thing is a Constitution! Like 
Charity, " it covers a multitude of sins/' and I 
scarcely know how some people would balance 
their accounts with heaven, did they not put to the 
credit side, their Constitution. Go where we 
will, this most potent plea meets us. My parti- 
cular friend, Delaware, but a day or two since, 
when the Churchwardens told his father, " that 
the additional rates were owing to his own son, 
for he had seduced almost every girl in the 
parish," assured his Dad, with the most enviable 
equanimity, that he " was a libertine from con- 
stitution rather than from vice !" 

Again. There was a Mrs. Hill of Wakefield 
— the head of the Lying-in Charity, and a very 
ingenious lady — who had her constitutional weak- 
ness ; and a queer one, beyond controversy, it 



62 A CONSTITUTION. 

was. Though a woman in very easy circumstances, 
she could never resist, on entering her milliner's 
shop, purloining some bit of finery which struck 
her fancy. The milliner was sorely perplexed 
at the regular disappearance of remnants of lace 
— French kid gloves — and superfine silk stock- 
ings after Mrs. Hill's visits, and had long puzzled 
her brains to no purpose ; till accident, one 
morning, discovered the thief. Unwilling to 
lose her property, and equally unwilling to lose 
a good customer, with the true sagacity of a 
Marchande des Modes, she determined on adding 
the lost articles to Mrs. Hill's account, and 
silently awaiting the result. The stratagem suc- 
ceeded. The bill was paid, and no questions 
were asked. But in an evil hour, Mrs. Hill 
ventured to practise her pranks in a strange 
shop, the owner of which, unlike the com- 
plaisant Miss Weathercock, acquainted Mr. 
Hill with the fact, and rudely threatened to prose- 
cute his lady. Mr. Hill listened to the story 
with Quaker-like calmness, and with a dry hem 
exclaimed, " It was constitutional — quite so !" 
Others have a constitutional propensity to 
laugh at " any thing dreadful ;" and from being 
thus naturally blessed, Etheridge, a College 
chum of mine, lost only ten thousand pounds ! 



A CONSTITUTION. 63 

His uncle awoke him one morning, and told 
him, with a face of horror, that his grand-father 
had been found dead in his bed. The expression 
of his uncle's phiz — the red velvet night cap which 
adorned his brow — the shiver of his whole frame, 
which made his teeth rattle like the keys of an 
old harpsichord— combined with his constitutional 
propensity, to make my unlucky friend roar 
again. The old bachelor, thunderstruck, left the 
room ; took out his bene decessit a few months 
afterwards ; and by his will left his nephew — 
five guineas for a mourning ring ! 

Then there are constitutional liars — men, who, 
without any advantage to gain, or any end to 
answer, indulge in the most palpable falsehoods. 
Under this description come two brothers whom 
1 once met. The one had travelled, and had 
seen more prodigies than any tourist before or 
after him ; the other was a man of bonnes for tunes, 
and had been on intimate terms with every 
beauty in Europe. The first declared he had seen 
water boil till it was red-hot — manfully stood to 
his assertion before a large party — and because 
one gentleman in company expressed his doubts 
respecting the phenomenon — fought a duel to 
prove it ! The other carried his constitutional 



64 A CONSTITUTION. 

weakness still farther: for he made his last 
action, on earth, constitutionally in keeping with 
the rest of his life. A few hours before he died, 
he summoned a particular friend to his bed-side, 
and in a voice, tremulous with approaching dis- 
solution, entreated him to be a guardian and a 
father to a little boy whose mother was a beau- 
tiful girl of high rank. To her he gave him a 
letter, beautifully and pathetically worded, and 
filled with the most familiar and endearing 
epithets, authorizing her to surrender his child 
to his friend. Firmly believing the dying man's 
statement, the friend, after following him to the 
grave, hurried to Harley Street, and with con- 
siderable difficulty, obtained an interview with 
the lady : — delivered the letter : — and begged to 
be favoured with her commands. The scene may 
be more easily supposed, than described, when I 
add, that the Earl's daughter — for such she 
was — amazed at its contents, summoned one of 
her brothers to unravel the mystery ; — and that 
a duel had very nearly been the result. It was, 
at last, proved, beyond all question, that the 
lady had been absent from England during the 
whole period to which the letter referred — that 
she could not possibly have ever known the 



A CONSTITUTION. 65 

writer — and in all human probability, was utterly 
ignorant that such an unprincipled being was 
in existence. 

Again. I have heard it asserted, " 'tis years 
ago !" of an old naval officer, who was an orna- 
ment to his noble profession, and had a heart 
that did honor to human nature — that he lived 
swearing, died swearing ; and it was shrewdly 
suspected by his men, had been born swearing ! 
A few hours before his last action, he called 
both his eyes and his blood to witness, that he 
could not live an hour without swearing, — could 
not fight his ship without swearing, — and finally 

ended with, " By it's constitutional with me, 

it's in my blood I" 

But how does it happen that the case is so 
seldom reversed? Rarely, very rarely, does 
Constitution get the credit of our virtues. I 
never heard of a lady owning that she was con- 
stitutionally chaste — a Clergyman, that he was 
constitutionally pious — a Whig, that he was con- 
stitutionally patriotic—or a Fellow of a College, 
that he was constitutionally abstemious. Oh, dear, 
no ! All that is Principle. We claim for our- 
selves all the credit due to our virtues, while 
we burthen our Constitution with our vices ; and 
it seems most happily ordered, that every crea- 



66 A CONSTITUTION. 

ture, under heaven, has some failing with which 
he can charge his Constitution, 

To be sure, here and there, one lights upon 
an exception. For instance, my hypochondriacal 
neighbour, who can eat, drink, sleep, and talk; — - 
owns a face like a dairy-maid ; and a corporation 
only second to that of Sir William Curtis ; has, 
to my certain knowledge, been in a dying state 
for the last five years, owing to " a complication 
of disorders." Wretched mortal! he has de- 
prived himself of the most availing plea for ever. 
He told me, this morning, with a countenance 
that would have made a mile-stone melancholy, 
that " it was all over with him — his case was 
decided on — Pelham Warren had only just told 
him, he could do nothing more for him — he 

HAD NO CONSTITUTION AT ALL 1 ." 

E. 



ENGLISH ANOMALIES. 



"Wondrous, that our will should ever oppose itself to 
the strong and uncontrollable tide of destiny — that we should 
strive with the stream, when we might float with the current." 

Author of Waverley. 



ENGLISH ANOMALIES. 



With all our pretensions to steadiness of prin- 
ciple, and consistency of conduct, we are a 
strange inconsistent nation. Overflowing with 
patriotism, we are for ever railing at the climate 
and localities of our island; — stoutly protesting, 
when at home, that despotism has so encroached 
upon the rights of the subject, that not even a 
shadow of liberty is left us — yet declaring, with 
the first breath we draw on a foreign strand, that 
England alone is free ;— perpetually satirizing 
our ruling princes, — and yet, when any domestic 
calamity assails their family, rally round them 
with all the zeal, and all the devotion of af- 
fection ; — incessantly proclaiming we are ill- 
governed — a favourite complaint by the way in 
all ages, of the governed against the governors — 
and yet when abroad dwelling on the English Con- 



70 ENGLISH ANOMALIES. 

stitution, as a model for every nation on the 
globe; — when engaged in warfare, praying, long- 
ing, petitioning for peace— on its arrival dis- 
satisfied, and desiring war ; — admitting, that as a 
Commercial Nation, a state of tranquillity is, for 
us, a state of prosperity — yet ready on the first 
opportunity or the most trifling pretext to engage 
headlong in hostilities ;— pleading the utmost 
poverty, and more than hinting our being on the 
brink of bankruptcy — yet lending in their neces- 
sities to all the world besides ; — for ever seeking 
pleasure in excursions distant from our country, 
yet never happy when separated from her bosom. 
In our internal policy there are minute but 
equally striking anomalies. Large parks, and 
pleasure grounds, and chases, and ridings, meet 
the eye, while the cry is resounding through the 
isle, that the population of England is too great 
for her extent, and the landed proprietor reads 
Malthus with a shudder, in a study, that opens 
upon acres of lawn. Let the monopolizer of 
territory meet the subject fairly; and while he 
contemplates with selfish satisfaction the acres, 
that as mere matters of taste or ornament 
surround his mansion, let him reflect for what 
purposes they were originally intended, and to 
what objecc they are now applied. If he be- 



ENGLISH ANOMALIES. 71 

lieves, in sober earnestness, that the population 
of England is on an increase fatal to her pros- 
perity, will he leave a nook or clod uncultivated, 
which may be converted into human life ? When 
he considers that the belt of stunted firs or dwind- 
ling exotics which surrounds his seat might 
be studded with cottages, and peopled with spi- 
rits, such as shall one day encircle the throne of 
Heaven — will he talk of placing legal and autho- 
ritative restraints on the increase of his fellow- 
beings? — or think it a proof of fine taste, to 
admire more a hot-house plant or scathed oak, 
than the image of his Maker, in the infant face 
or hoary age of honest and industrious cot- 
tagers ? 

But it is during an Assize week, in a County 
town, that the anomalous state of English feel- 
ing is distinctly perceptible. A period of agony 
to many a parent — of anxious expectation and 
fearful apprehension to many a bosom — has been 
selected as a season of gaiety; and the time, 
when death is dealing with the guiltiest of our 
fellow-beings, and crimes and characters are 
disclosed, which disgrace humanity, is seized 
on as propitious to revelry and enjoyment. But 
can not the case be applied to ourselves? Have 
we not our " Great Assize?" And what would 



72 ENGLISH ANOMALIES. 

be thought of the folly of those malefactors, 
or what is likely to be their doom, who, instead 
of preparing for their own trial, spend the inter- 
val in amusing themselves with trifles, or coolly 
contemplating the fate of their fellows ? 

Another trait of the anomalous state of public 
law and intellect made striking by Assize Execu- 
tions — and I have done. The state of mind, re- 
pentant or obdurate, in which a convict meets 
his doom, is matter of interest to the whole 
neighbourhood, if not the County : while hun- 
dreds of poor creatures around us, and all sin- 
ners ; — as who is not ? — die in their hovels disre- 
garded. A Chaplain attends the victim of the 
law ; other Clergymen frequently assist the Chap- 
lain, while the zeal and energies of all are exerted 
for this individual's salvation. But is every poor 
cottager and parish pauper so assisted ? — If not, 
— and such assistance insure salvation — then it 
becomes an inestimable blessing to die at the 
gallows ! 

E. 



THE GREEN DRAGON 



HARROGATE. 



" A keen perception of the ludicrous I take to be one of 
the greatest blessings in life.'* 

Home Tooke. 



THE GREEN DRAGON 



AT 

HARROGATE. 



It was my good fortune in my nineteenth sum- 
mer to spend six weeks at Harrogate. Owing to 
our arriving late we were stationed at, what was 
termed, the Round-Table. Among the Knights 
of the Round-Table was a Mr. Cyrus Quincunx 
— a gentlemanly man — who would have done 
very well with his curricle and two fine bay 
horses, had he not been blessed with a nose. It 
was a nose of most unusual dimensions. It was 
a nose — but I cannot describe what it was — 
so I must say what it was not. It was not a 
Roman nose — nor a Grecian nose — nor yet an 
aquiline nose. Neither was it a turn-up nose — 
nor a snub nose. It was not the nose of a drunk- 
ard — nor the nose of the sensualist — nor the nose 



76 THE GREEN DRAGON AT HARROGATE. 

of the glutton. It looked like a nose in a blaze : 
•—and, by moonlight, cast such a shade before the 
wearer /—in fact, it was a deuce of a nose. — " It 
is really a great pity : for Mr. Cyrus is so very 
polite — of such a very old family — has so much 
to say for himself— and such a sweet pretty place 
in the country /" said the ladies — " A devil of a 
bore for the fellow, that nose of his !" exclaimed 
the gentlemen. 

It happened, very unfortunately, that Mr. Cy- 
rus's seat was directly opposite a very pretty 
girl, whom he persecuted with his pressing re- 
commendations of the pastry and good things in 
his neighbourhood. His attentions, though they 
were wormwood, were evidently so kindly meant, 
that they were accepted by all — though I observed 
the dishes in his vicinity to be rarely tasted : — 
and the plate of many a fair one, whom he had 
helped, to be sent away untouched. It was cu 
rious, too, to remark that the ladies invariably 
took a side view of him — answered him askance., 
or aside — and not one, that I ever saw, ventured 
to look him full in front, or face this terrible 
nose. 

While these manoeuvres were in full play, 
chance determined that Mr. Cyrus Quincunx 
should be stationed close to a mould of jelly. Of 



THE GREEN DRAGON AT HARROGATE. 77 

this he insisted, as usual, on doing the honors ; 
but alas! while he gracefully bent, in wining 
with a fair one opposite, a luckless piece of jelly 
adhered to the tip of his still more luckless nose. 
Entirely ignorant of the mischief, he continued 
talking — and helping — and eating — and bowing 
— and smiling — while, at every grimace and ges- 
ticulation, the jelly shook and quivered with the 
most responsive sympathy. The ladies at first 
affected not to see it— -then averted their bloom- 
ing faces — fixed their eyes on the table — all 
wouldn't do: — at a prolonged shake of the jelly 
a giggling boarding-school miss was unable to 
repress her risibility, and, the example once set, 
the whole table was in a roar. 

At the dinner table, on the succeeding day, no 
Mr. Quincunx made his appearance. It was 
soon buzzed about, that a Mr. Chapman had ar- 
rived at Harrogate within the last week, with a 
nose of unusual dimensions beyond doubt — but 
" very inferior, on the whole" to that which 
claimed Mr. Quincunx for its owner. Mr. Q. 
had, as usual, gone to the Well at Low-Harr6gate 
for his morning dose, when the woman observed, 
" You have had your glass already, sir," " Im- 
possible/' replied Nosey Major, " for I have only 



78 THE GREEN DRAGON AT HARROGATE. 

this moment arrived." — "Well, sir," returned 
the Naiad of the Well, pertly, " 1 am sure I 
have given it, for I can't be mistaken in the 
gentleman: Mr. Chapman of the Crown?" — 
" Oh my Heavens ! " exclaimed Mr. Cyrus, 
setting down his glass untasted, " is it possible 
that I could be taken for that disgusting ob- 
ject ! " And he left Harrogate in an hour.— - 
" How little do we know ourselves !" was the 
original remark of the antiquated belle who 
told the story. " Mr. Cyrus could never have 
looked in the glass! Why, Mr. Chapman is 
a beauty compared to him ! " — It was pretty 
well known, afterwards, she had had her little 
designs for months upon Nosey Minor — but 

let that pass. 

******** 

I had returned from Harrogate some months, 
and had wholly forgotten both Mr. Cyrus 
Quincunx and his nose, when I was attracted 
by a very smart dashing couple, alighting from 
a carriage, and entering a shop in the Hay- 
market where I was. The gentleman seemed 
to recognize me. His figure was familiar to 
me, — and so were some of his features : but 
to his general appearance, and the expression 



THE GREEN DRAGON AT HARROGATE. 79 

of his face, I was an utter stranger. He 
spoke — called on me for my congratulations — 
and begged to introduce me to his bride. — 
It was Mr. Cyrus Quincunx, with a new 

NOSE. 

E. 



THE POTTS'S 



e2 



tremble at seventy two. 

Old Song. 



THE POTTS'S! 



I am staying for the recovery of my health at 
the Potts's. The family — which consists of the 
father and head of the house, a daughter, a mai- 
den aunt, and a daughter-in-law — pique them- 
selves on being originals. Such things are, valu- 
able. I'll describe them ! —Mr. Sharon Potts 
is an old gentleman who has so perplexed himself 
with creeds, and sects, and theories, that he has 
at last quietly settled down into a Swedenbor- 
gian. He believes, in common with his party, 
that we follow in heaven the same profession as 
on earth, and that his sect is permitted to con- 
verse, at will, with departed spirits. He told 
me, very gravely, the first evening of my becom- 
ing his inmate, " that he was sure his departed 
wife — she had been cook to her late Majesty — 



84 the fottVs! 

was at that moment engaged in culinary matters 
above ;" and that he had rested, very ill, the 
evening of my arrival, owing to his having " been 
engaged in a course of chemical experiments 
with his deceased maiden aunt." On farther 
enquiry, I find he was once put into confinement, 
but contrived to make his escape. On his keep- 
ers overtaking him, he informed them, with the 
utmost dignity, that he was " an Etruscan vase, 
and belonged to the Marquis of Stafford's galle- 
ry ;" — and desired them to take him there with 
" the greatest possible care/' as he was consi- 
dered to be, by his Lordship, the greatest curiosity 
in his collection ! 

Miss Celestina Potts — Sharon's only daughter 
— is 0l great curiosity in her way. In early life 
she threw herself into the Humber because her 
father insisted on her learning "running hand :" 
and now " certain matters" are pending between 
her and a Mr. Penshurst Cadwallader, a Cam- 
bridge exquisite, whom she met at a ball — where 
his irresistible appearance in a pair of white 
sarsnet small-clothes (fact, ladies, on my honour !) 
decided her fate for life. The circumstances of the 
courtship are in perfect keeping with the intel- 
lect of the parties. Mr. P. C. — I detest your long 
names ! — without ever having exchanged a sen- 



THE POTTs's ! 85 

tence with the lady in question, thought proper 
to assert, in every Coterie at Hull, that whoever 
married Celestina Potts " might expect to breed 
candidates for Bedlam!" — But chance having 
shortly afterwards bestowed ten thousand pounds 
on Miss Potts, so thoroughly convinced was Mr. 
Penshurst of the soundness of her understanding, 
and of her qualifications for a wife, — that he laid 
his pretty person at her feet and offered to make 
her — Mrs. Penshurst Cadwallader ! — Miss Celes- 
tina Potts, on this — as she phrased it— " most in- 
terestingly-critical moment of her life," replied : 
— " Mr. Penshurst Cadwallader — -some girls — 
nay, most girls — in my situation — would have 
kept you hours — and days — and weeks — and 
months, in suspense: but I scorn such conduct; 
and therefore T tell you at once that — I'll have 
you !'' 

But there is always a great personage in every 
family, and Mr. Potts's sister — Mrs. Bathsheba 
— is lady of the ascendant in this. She is an 
ancient maiden, of large property, and vindicates 
her right to be " a Potts" by the eccentricity of 
her character. Her study is Blackstone's Com- 
mentaries, and her delight, law. She piques 
herself on having been five and forty times in a 
Court of Justice ; and relates, with joy, that she 
has been Plaintiff in twenty-two actions, and De- 



86 THE POTTs's! 

fendant in eleven. By means, best known to 
herself, she has contrived to drag every tenant 
on her estate, at one time or other, into court — 
and is now going on her way rejoicing, as con- 
ducting a suit in chancery entirely on her own 
plan. The last time I saw Mrs. Bathsheba — she's 
rather too legal for me, for I've not been over and 
above fond of law ever since I was cast for dama- 
ges in an action for breach of promise of marriage, 
some five and thirty years ago — I accompanied 
her to the sitting Alderman at the Guildhall, on 
a summons for nuisance and trespass I Mrs. B. 
Potts, as usual, chose to defend herself; but on an 
unfortunate turn in her legal oratory, the worthy 
magistrate was unable to preserve his gravity, 
and Mrs. Bathsheba — regardless of my rheu- 
matics — immediately hurried me out of court, as- 
suring his Worship, with a most stentorian hol- 
loa, that, " she would see her legal adviser that 
very day, and take the law of him for l laughing 
at her." 

To me the most pleasing of the groupe are 
Mrs. George Potts — the widow of Sharon's only 
son — and two pretty little girls, her children. 
She is thought to be a lady of very great re- 
finement. I must say she carries it, at times, 
rather too far for me — for I felt much shocked at 
hearing her ask to day, at dinner, for " masticat- 



THE POTTs's ! 87 

ed turnip ;" and hardly knew what reply to make 
her yesterday, when she lamented to me, very pa- 
thetically, — her "utter inability to teach Nerissa 
and Antonina," chits of five years old — " little 

elegancies !" 

******** 

I have been interrupted by that awful woman, 
Mrs. Bathsheba Potts. On my life, I begin to 
fear, from her constant visits, she has some de- 
sign upon me ! Without any previous intimation, 
she perched herself upon a stool, and rehearsed 
part of a speech which she intended should be 
made in her cause in chancery. I got frightened 
at her gesticulations — I'm rather nervous — and, to 
get rid of her, was obliged to hint at an appoint- 
ment. It had the desired effect. But I heard 
her say, as she descended the stairs, — "Well! 
it's the oddest thing in the world ! wherever I go 
the men are hurrying to some appointment !". • . 
... I watched her down the street — for fifty, she 
walks pretty briskly — and lost her all at once at 
the side door of the last house in Whitefriar-gate. 
It was that of a London adventurer, who has lately 
arrived at Hull, and anounces, he " gives lec- 
tures on Political (Economy, Modern Phrenolo- 
gy, and Animal Magnetism. N. B. A private 
door for elderly people." 

N. 



THE QUAKER'S BURIAL. 



" If mortal charity dare claim 
The Almighty's attributed name, 
Inscribe above his mouldering clay — 
' The Widows' shield, the Orphans' stay.' " 

Sir Walter Scott. 



THE QUAKER'S BURIAL. 



It was in the twilight of an autumnal evening, that 
a stranger, who had just returned from a long 
sojourn, in a foreign land, found himself travers- 
ing one of the most silent and unfrequented 
streets of Bristol. Buried in the reflections 
which that sober-thoughted hour is apt to pro- 
duce — musing on past scenes and early friends, 
the dead and the distant, the crowds we knew, 
the one we loved ; he found himself on a sudden 
making one in a procession, who were, apparently, 
discharging the last office that man requires of 
his fellow. Indifferent to the event, the stranger 
allowed himself to be carried forward with the 
multitude, and it was not till he had entered a 
large unadorned building, and was seated on 
one of the benches which were ranged along the 



92 the Quaker's burial. 

walls, that he became conscious he was within a 
Quaker's Meeting-, the witness of a Quaker's 
burial. 

To a mind sated with the luxury and pageantry 
of the East, the scene was new and interesting ; 
and it might be — the recollection of some hidden 
gangrene of the soul made the wanderer exclaim 
in a kind of mental soliloquy, as he gazed on the 
placid faces of " The Friends" around him, "Oh, 
had I my life to live over again, what a different 
creature would I be." — He closed his reverie. — 
The Society, two and two, slowly walked up 
the centre, and seated themselves at the upper 
part of the building. A plain ; unornamented, 
deal coffin, containing the remains of their late 
brother, was then solemnly borne up the middle 
aisle, and placed in full view of the assembly. 
One of the Society then rose and made a brief 
request for silence. To the credit of the crowded 
assemblage, it was instantly and strictly com- 
plied with. There could hardly be a scene more 
touching, than the profound and death-like 
stillness which now reigned throughout the build- 
ing, and nothing more subduing than the simple 
yet imposing spectacle which it presented. 

Ranged around the coffin of him, who had been 
so suddenly called on to exchange the illusions 



the Quaker's burial. 93 

of earth for the realities of eternity,* were those 
who had been the partakers of his hopes, his 
privileges, and his faith ; — while behind were 
seen, in unaffected sadness, those whom his 
bounty had relieved, his support encouraged, his 
advice consoled, and his example guided. It 
was true, the sublime service of our church was 
wanting— that no notes of the swelling organ 
came bursting on the ear — and no proclamation 
was heard of the titles and stiles of those who 
are then alike insensible to praise and censure : 
— but there was something inexpressibly af- 
fecting in the silence which pervaded the whole 
assembly ; so deep, — so unbroken, — that the 
ticking of the clock was distinctly audible, and 
that the ear was startled even by a stifled sob, 
which here and there burst from those whose 
feelings were beyond control. 

A female Friend shortly rose and addressed 
the multitude. " She could not but suppose that 
curiosity had attracted a considerable portion of 
her auditors. Still even these might learn some 
useful lessson — might derive some improvement 

*The late Mr. R . Of him it may be truly said, that 

" he exported his fortune before him to heaven, and we trust 
he is gone thither to enjoy it." 



94 the Quaker's burial. 

from the scene. The most thoughtless might 
listen to the voice of instruction, the most incon- 
siderate to the dictates of truth." She then 
pointed out in energetic, yet unaffected language, 
the beauty and nobleness of a Christian life, and 
with a very brief eulogium on the benevolence 
of the deceased — more indeed with the view of 
exciting the emulation of the living, than of mak- 
ing an ostentatious display of the virtues of the 
dead — closed her pithy address. 

The most fastidious critic might have dwelt, 
with admiration, on the graceful, yet quiet, action 
of the speaker, and have listened, with delight, 
to the melody of that voice which spoke peace 
to the soul : — while the earnestness of the 
Quaker's manner, into which her subject oc- 
casionally betrayed her, seemed but to give an 
unusually animated expression to a countenance, 
where every thing else was calm and tranquil. 
She ceased — and the procession moved slowly 
towards the grave. Yet, even there, while the 
body of their Brother was lowering into his nar- 
row dwelling, no expression of turbulent sorrow 
disturbed the solemnity of the scene. Religion 
had given her tranquillizing hue to all around 
her. Chastened sadness was the prevailing fea- 



the Quaker's burial. 95 

ture of the community, as they one by one took 
the u last long look :" but every kind of human 
sorrow, every expression of vain and selfish 
regret, was excluded from those placid coun- 
tenances, which no anxiety appeared to have 
power to ruffle, no calamity to be able to 
disturb. 

E. 



THE ART OF SPELLING. 



" Famse damna majora sunt, quam quae sestimari possint." 

Publius Syrus* 



THE ART OF SPELLING. 



I have been from my youth that melancholy 
thing to other people — a professed joker. From 
the period that, as a boy, I hid the Bible belong- 
ing to a Baptist Meeting, which stood in our 
play-ground, — to the inexpressible consternation 
of the congregation and the no small confusion 
of the preacher,— up to my last freak which I am 
now going to relate, I have literally treated " life 
as a jest." — I was on a visit to a friend in the 
country, a Major Holdsworth, when, to amuse me 
— Fm an elderly gentleman and have an utter 
abomination to cards — a whist party was made 
up, to which were asked the Miss Pennicks : — a 
trio of the most intolerant, immaculate, vinegar- 
faced virgins, whom I have ever encountered in 
my earthly pilgrimage. — It was on my return from 



100 THE ART OF SPELLING. 

coursing, while this treat was in agitation, that I 
spied an odd-looking, three-cornered note lying 
unsealed on a work table. With unaccountable 
curiosity I opened it. It ran thus. 

" The Miss Pennicks feel extreamly 

SORRY THEY CANNOT HAVE THE PLEASURE 
OF WAITTING ON MRS. HoLDSWORTH AS THEY 

are verry indiferent." In a close imita- 
tion of their own hand, I added the word " spel- 
lers" — refolded the note, and replaced it on the 
table. " Well, this is the most singular thing 
that ever happened to me/' said the Major as I 
entered the dining room. " Read this incompre- 
hensible note. The Miss Pennicks can't drink 
tea with my wife because, ' they are very indif- 
ferent Spellers' !" " And a very sufficient reason," 
said I, " for not entering into society." " Well," 
cried Mrs. Holdsworth, " I always thought there 
was something odd about those Miss Pennicks. 
I've expected some time something strange would 
happen to them." Mrs. Holdsworth was one of 
those long-headed, highly gifted women who fore- 
see events long before they occur, — and pride 
themselves on being surprised at nothing. Her 
reputation for foresight was so thoroughly esta- 
blished, that her less fortunate neighbours looked 
up to her as an oracle. When Napoleon went 



THE ART OF SPELLING. 101 

to St. Helena, " She had always suspected that 
would be the end of it ;" and " the Princess 
Elizabeth's marriage she had foreseen for years." 
By three o'clock, in the following afternoon, 
there were few houses in Hoddesdon, in which 
the indefatigable Mrs. Holdsworth had not 
mentioned — as a profound secret — that " the 
Major" had received such a note from the 
Miss Pennicks ! " What was it?" cried half a 
dozen gossips with the most infecting earnestness. 
" You must really excuse my giving the contents. 
I never expose my sex. You know I'm not 
squeamish : but I really cannot detail what that 
note contained." — "How very dreadful!" was 
repeated in various tones round the room. " Hor- 
rid !" resumed Mrs. Holdsworth, with a most 
diplomatic expression of countenance— " Not 
that I would injure the Miss Pennicks for the 
world. Poor things I" — " Ah, poor things !" was 
re-echoed around. " Who would have suspected 
it?" " Oh"— cried Mrs. Holdsworth, briskly, 
for she felt this was an inroad on her reputation — 
" I'm not the least surprized ! I've long foreseen 
it ! Miss Abigail's misfortune has been known to 
me for months ! Not that I would injure her — 
poor thing !" — " Nor I, poor thing ! Nor I !" 
cried each member of this precious coterie, as 



102 THE ART OF SPELLING. 

she separated to disseminate this scandalous 
morceau, in her own peculiar beat, with all her 
energies. 

Well — the story did not lose in the telling. 
People drew their own conclusions— not, of course, 
the most favourable to the Miss Pennicks — and 
the consequence was, that these maiden ladies, 
who had lived all their days in the most unspot- 
ted innocence, found themselves, on a sudden, 
avoided, pointed at, and rejected by society. 
Their neighbours drew up when they passed — 
their former gossips, who would once chat with 
them by the hour, contented themselves with a 
" Good Morning ! Fine Day !" and, as Miss 
Charity Pennick observed, the days of Sodom 
and Gomorrah were come again. 

Things grew worse and worse. " Fine Day I" 
and " Good Morning !" gave place to a bow or 
smile, en passant — their tea-parties were declined 
— their visits unreturned — and Patience Pennick 
declared herself " weary of life" — when Abigail, 
the eldest sister, goaded to desperation by a 
fresh slight, conjured a quondam crony to ex- 
plain the mystery. She was then given to under- 
stand, with much circumlocution, that "She, 
and her sisters, were suspected of courting an 
improper intimacy with Major Holdsworth !" 



THE ART OF SPELLING. 103 

— " On whose authority V: screamed Charity. 
" On that of his own wife," was the reply. 

After the hysterics produced by this unexpect- 
ed communication had subsided, the three 
injured spinsters had immediate recourse to their 
professional adviser. They resolved, with his 
concurrence, instantly to prosecute Mrs, Holds- 
worth for defamation of character. When " the 
dread note of preparation" sounded, and Mrs. 
Ho Ids worth was informed, that her appearance in 
open court would be requisite, she expressed her 
amazement at u the world's wilful misconstruc- 
tion ;" and admitted, for the first time in her life, 
that this she had never anticipated : — while 
Major Holds worth's broad unmeaning face as- 
sumed a state of utter bewilderment, when he 
was told, he certainly had received criminal 
overtures from Miss Abigail Pennick ! 

To obtain a clear insight into matters, it was 
determined — that an interview should take place 
between the belligerent parties, attended by their 
legal advisers, at which the note should be forth- 
coming. All but the last word Miss Abigail 
admitted she had written — but that word she 
stoutly disclaimed. " Well, Madam," said the 
Major's brazen-faced Solicitor, — " that point is 
immaterial. The chief object is attained — for 



104 THE ART OF SPELLING. 

your spotless virgin character is placed beyond 
suspicion. As a lawyer, I say, take the case into 
court. As a friend, let it stay where it is. For, 
whatever might be the opinion of the jury on 
legal matters, you would certainly stand con- 
victed as a most ' indifferent speller/ " 

E. 



THE HEIRESS IN JEOPARDY. 



f2 



" Is it not better to repent and marry, than to marry and 

repent?" 

Collar eve. 



THE HEIRESS IN JEOPARDY. 



How much of human hostility depends on that 
circumstance — distance. If the most bitter ene- 
mies were to come into contact, how much their 
ideas of each other would be chastened and 
corrected ! They would mutually amend their 
erroneous impressions ; see much to admire, and 
much to imitate in each other ; and half the 
animosity that sheds its baneful influence on 
society would fade away, and be forgotten. 

It was one day, when I was about seven years 
old, after an unusual bustle in the family mansion, 
and my being arrayed in a black frock, much to 
my inconvenience, in the hot month of August, 
that I was told, my asthmatic old uncle had gone 
off like a lamb, and that I was the heiress to 
ten thousand per annum. This information, 



180 THE HEIRESS IN JEOPARDY. 

given with an air of infinite importance, made no 
very great impression upon me, at the time, and, 
in spite of the circumstance being regularly 
dwelt on, by my French Governess, at Camden 
House, after every heinous misdemeanor, I had 
thought little or nothing on the subject, till, at 
the age of eighteen, I was called on to bid 
adieu to Levizac and pirouettes, and hear uncle's 
will read by my guardian. 

It furnished me, indeed, with ample materials 
for thinking. Dr. Marrowfat's face, neither hu- 
man nor divine — I see it before me while I am 
writing — appeared positively frightful as he re- 
cited its monstrous contents. It appeared, that 
my father and uncle, though brothers, had 
wrangled and jangled through life ; and that the 
only subject on which they ever agreed was, sup- 
porting the dignity of the Vavasour family. 
That, in a moment of unprecedented unison, they 
had determined, that, as the title fell to my 
cousin Edgar, and the estates to me, to keep 
both united in the family, we should marry. And 
it seemed, whichever party violated these precious 
conditions, was actually dependent on the other 
for bread and butter. — When I first heard of this 
pious arrangement I blessed myself, and Sir 
Edgar cursed himself. A passionate, overbear- 



THE HEIUESS IN JEOPARDY. 109 

ing, . dissolute young man, thought I, for a 
husband,— for the husband of an orphan,— -of a 
girl who has not a nearer relation than himself 
in the world, — who has no father to advise her, 
no mother to support her : — a professed rake, too 
— who will merely view me as an incumbrance 
on his estate, who will think no love, no confi- 
dence, no respect due to me ; who will insult my 
feelings, deride my sentiments, and wither with 
unkindness the best affections of my nature. 
No ! — I concluded, as my constitutional levity 
returned — I have the greatest possible respect 
for guardians, — revere their office, — and tremble 
at their authority, — but to make myself wretched 
merely to please them — No ! No ! I positively 
cannot think of it. 

Well — time, who is no respecter of persons, 
went on. The gentleman was within a few 
months of being twenty one, and, on the day of 
his attaining age, he was to say, whether it was 
his pleasure to fulfil the engagement. My opi- 
nion, I found, was not to be asked. A titled 
husband was procured for me, and I was to take 
him, and be thankful. I was musing on my 
singular situation, when a thought struck me. 
Can I not see him, and judge of his character 
unsuspected by himself? This is the season when 



110 THE HEIRESS IN JEOPARDY. 

he pays an annual visit to my God-mother, why 
not persuade her to let me visit her incog ? The 
idea, strange as it was, was instantly acted on, 
and a week saw me at Vale-royal, without car- 
riages, without horses, without servants, to all 
appearance a girl of no pretensions or expecta- 
tions, and avowedly dependent on a distant 
relation. 

To this hour I remember my heart beating, 
audibly, as I descended to the dining-room, 
where I was to see, for the first time, the future 
arbiter of my fate— and I never shall forget my 
surprize, when a pale, gentlemanly, and rather 
reserved young man, in apparent ill-health, was 
introduced to me for the noisy, dissolute, dis- 
tracting and distracted Baronet ! Preciously have 
I been hoaxed, thought I, as, after a long and 
rather interesting conversation with Sir Edgar, 
I, with the other ladies, left the room. Days 
rolled on in succession. Chance continually 
brought us together, and prudence began to 
whisper, " You had better return home." Still I 
lingered — till, one evening, towards the close of 
a long tete-a-tete conversation, on my saying 
that I never considered money and happiness as 
synonymous terms, and thought it very possible 
to live on five hundred a year, he replied, " One 



THE HEIRESS IN JEOPARDY. HI 

admission more — could you live on it with me ? 
You are doubtless acquainted/' he continued, 
with increasing emotion, — "with my unhappy 
situation, but not perhaps aware, that, revolting 
from a union with Miss Vavasour, I have resolved 
on taking orders, and accepting a living from a 
friend. If, foregoing more brilliant prospects, 
you would condescend to share my retirement," 

His manner, the moment, the lovely scene 

which surrounded us, all combined against me, 
and heaven only knows what answer I might 
have been hurried into, had I not got out, with a 
gaiety foreign to my heart — " I can say nothing 
to you till you have, in person, explained your 
sentiments to Miss Vavasour. Nothing — posi- 
tively nothing." — "But why? Can seeing her 
again and again," he returned, " ever reconcile 
me to her manners, habits, and sentiments, — or 
any estates induce me to place, at the head 
of my table, a hump-backed bas bleu, in green 
spectacles ?" 

"Hump-backed?" — "Yes, from her cradle m 
But you colour, Do you know her ?" — " Inti- 
mately. She's my most particular friend !" — "I 
sincerely beg your pardon. What an unlucky 
dog lam! I hope you're not offended ?" — " Of- 
fended ? Oh no — not offended. Hump-backed ! 



112 THE HEIRESS IN JEOPARDY. 

Good heavens ! — Not the least offended — Hump- 
backed, of all things in the world !" and I involun- 
tarily gave a glance at the glass. " I had no 
conception/ 7 he resumed, as soon as he could 
collect himself, " that there was any acquaint- 
ance/' — " The most intimate,'* I replied, " and 
I can assure you that you have been represented 
to her, as the most dissolute, passionate, awk- 
ward, ill-disposed young man breathing." — 
" The devil!" — "Don't swear, but hear me. 
See your cousin. You will find yourself mis- 
taken. With her answer you shall have mine." 
And, with a ludicrous attempt to smile, when I 
was monstrously inclined to cry, I contrived to 
make my escape — I heard something very like 
" Damn Miss Vavasour," by the way — to my 
own apartment. We did not meet again ; for, 
the next morning, in no very enviable frame of 
mind, I returned home. 

A few weeks afterwards, Sir Edgar came of 
age. The bells were ringing blithely in the 
breeze — the tenants were carousing on the lawn 
— when he drove up to the door. My cue was 
taken. With a large pair of green spectacles on 
my nose,— in a darkened room, — I prepared for 
this tremendous interview. After hems and 
hah's innumerable, and with confusion the most 



THE HEIRESS IN JEOPARDY. 113 

distressing to himself, and the most amusing to 
me, he gave me to understand he could not fulfil 
the engagement made for him, and regretted it 
had ever been contemplated. " No — No," said I, 
in a voice that made him start, taking off my 
green spectacles with a profound curtsey, " No ! 
No ! it is preposterous to suppose, that Sir 
Edgar Vavasour would ever connect himself 
with an ill-bred, awkward, hump-backed girl." 
— Exclamations and explanations, laughter and 
railleries, intermixed with more serious feelings, 
followed ; but the result of it all was — that — that 
that — we are married. 

Ellen. 



ANASTASIA, 
THE BENEDICTINE NJJN. 



"There's no killing like that which kills the heart." 

Shakespeare. 



ANASTASIA, 

THE BENEDICTINE NUN. 



Whoever has recently travelled through the 
West-Riding of Yorkshire, by the main road 
from Sheffield to Leeds, can hardly have avoided 
noticing a beautiful edifice which greets him a 
few miles before his entrance into Wakefield. 
The venerable pile seated on an eminence — its 
turrets covered with ivy — the river, which sweeps 
nobly round it as if proud of the edifice it reflect- 
ed — unite in forming an object to arrest and 
charm the eye of the traveller. Nor is the situa- 
tion of the building its only claim on attention. 
A melancholy interest attaches to it, from its 
being the residence of a remnant of Benedictine 
Nuns, who, flying from France at the period of 
the Revolution, have here found an asylum, and 
in the consolations of religion, a refuge from mis- 



118 ANASTASIA, THE BENEDICTINE NUN. 

fortune. They could hardly have been more 
fortunate in their choice. The loneliness — the 
seclusion — the objects that surround the build- 
ing — invest it with an aspect so inexpressibly 
calm and tranquil, that it seems to bid defiance 
to the entrance of any earthly feeling, or unhal- 
lowed passion, — Behind it, in silent grandeur, 
rises the thick noble wood of Kirkthorpe, while 
through the trees the village church raises its 
humble head in the distance. It is not the least 
remarkable feature of this lowly building, that, 
in its church-yard, the Nuns from Monte Cassino 
find their last resting place. 

Amidst the high grass, which vegetates in dark 
luxuriance,— distinguished from the more simple 
memorials of the lowlier inhabitants of the village 
— rise, in proud pre-eminence, the marble monu- 
ments of the little Catholic community. The 
number is about twenty. The cross carved at 
the top — their strict uniformity and consan- 
guinity to each other — the rose-mary and sweet- 
briar which flourish thickly around them — finely 
contrast the simplicity of surrounding objects, 
and give a picturesque appearance to the 
scene. 

Among the inscriptions, which vary only in 
name and date, was that of 



ANASTASIA, THE BENEDICTINE NUN. 119 

"ANASTASIA. 

ONE OF THE SOCIETY OP BENEDICTINES. 

AGED 21. 

A NOVICE 1813. 

PROFESSED 1814. 

DIED 1815/' 

I was gazing on the tomb of one so young, and 
forming conjectures as to her history and misfor- 
tunes, when I perceived a stranger, melancholy 
and abstracted, viewing with the most intense in- 
terest the same objects as myself. I accosted 
him: and to my numerous queries respecting 
her who lay mouldering beneath us, he gave 
me the following particulars. The actors in 
the scene have long since passed from the stage? 
and, without hesitation, I give the story to the 
world. The young will never be persuaded by 
the aged ; nor the foolish by the wise ; but 
the living may learn from the dead, for them 
they can neither envy nor hate. 

It was in the year 18 — , when the English 
army were encamped near Lisbon, that two 
British Officers paid a visit to the Convent of 
St. Clara. It enclosed within its walls, at that 
period, two sisters, beautiful and unfortunate 
girls, who had taken the vows, which rendered 
them wretched for life, under circumstances 



120 



ANASTASIA, THE BENEDICTINE NUN. 



of the most unprincipled deception. Their story 
interested the feelings, and their beauty gave 
rise to deeper impressions in the breasts of two 
romantic young men: and repeated interviews 
ended in the young officers offering to carry off 
to England these victims of deception, and there 
to make them their own for life. The wretched 
state of the country — the storm of conventual 
persecution, of all others the most severe and 
the most pitiless — induced the Nuns to give 
their enterprizing admirers a willing assent. 
Colonel Pierrepoint and Sir Harry Trelawney 
were both men of family and fortune ; and 
Constance and Inez de Castro readily believed 
them men of honor. — It was speedily arranged 
that Colonel Pierrepoint's brother, who com- 
manded a man of war, then lying under sail- 
ing orders in the bay, should receive the 
fugitives on board, and convey them to England. 
There, their lovers were to join them, immedi- 
ately on obtaining leave of absence. 

After almost insupportable delays, the signal 
that the Andromache would sail on the mor- 
row, and that their lovers would be under the 
Western wall at twelve that night, was per- 
ceived in the Convent. The hour, so important 
to some beating hearts, arrived. The bay of 



ANASTASIA, THE BENEDICTINE NUN. 121 

Lisbon lay clear and blue in the summer moon- 
light; — the man-of-war's boat, with muffled oars, 
was stationed at a little distance from the shore ; 
— and the grey massy building of the Convent 
was distinctly visible through the bending foliage 
of the limes that surrounded it. 

The hour had barely struck, when a female 
form appeared above the Convent wall. *t She's 
mine," cried Pierrepoint, as the high-minded 
Constance, to inspire courage in her sister, 
and shew her the example, first descended the 
rope-ladder. Inez attempted to follow her : 
but, from some accident never explained, the 
ladder slipped — she faltered — tottered — and, at- 
tempting to grasp one of the buttresses of the 
wall, fell over into the grounds of the Convent. 
The scream of agony which escaped her, and 
the frenzied exclamations of Trelawney, alarmed 
the sisterhood, who rushed in crowds to the 
spot, and, after a short search, found the insensi- 
ble Inez. Trelawney was dragged, by main 
force, from the spot, while Constance was hur- 
ried on board the Andromache, which conveyed 
her to England. There, her lover soon after 
joined her, but as a lover only. The sacred 
name of wife he faithlessly withheld from her ; 
and, to the agony of being betrayed by the man 



122 ANASTASIA, THE BENEDICTINE NUN. 

she loved, were added the most fearful appre- 
hensions for her sister, and the unceasing re- 
proaches of her own heart. Of Inez, or of 
Trelawney, she could obtain no tidings. Pierre- 
point was ignorant, or pretended ignorance as 
to what became of either $ and hardly daring to 
reflect on the fate of her sister, yet hoping it 
was happier than her own, she continued to live 
on. The past only furnished her with a subject 
of regret; the future with a source of gloomy 
anticipation. 

Three years of her life she had thus dragged 
on, a cold, deserted, joyless being, unloving and 
unloved, devouring her sorrows in wretched 
solitude, with every capacity for happiness 
turned inward on herself, and converted into so 
many sources of the most exquisite misery — 
when Pierrepoint, coming, unexpectedly, to a title, 
and feeling some little compunction towards the 
woman he had so cruelly deceived, determined 
on offering her all the reparation in his power, 
and made her his wife. — It was a few weeks 
after this event that, at the Opera, blazing with 
jewels, and adorned as a bride, her person — 
faded indeed from its former loveliness, but 
still sufficiently beautiful to be the attraction of 
the evening — was recognised by Sir Harry 



ANASTASIA, THE BENEDICTINE NUN. 123 

Trelawney. An invitation brought him to her 
box. In a voice hardly articulate from emo- 
tion, she asked for her sister. " Can you bear 
to hear the truth V 1 said Trelawney, anxiously. 
" Any thing — every thing" — she exclaimed — 
"but suspense." He then told her, cautiously, 
that, disregarding the agony which Inez endured 
from a limb fractured in two places, the superior, 
discovering she yet lived, had her instantly 
conveyed to the Refectory, where the nuns 
repaired in full assembly: — that thence, with- 
out her limb being set, or any relief afforded 
her, the hapless victim was hurried to the fatal 
cell, where, between four walls, with her loaf 
of bread and cruse of water, she underwent 
the lingering death entailed on broken vows. 
" My agony," Trelawney added, " at discovering 
her fate, you may conceive, but I cannot de- 
scribe. Her affection — her devotion — her reliance 
on my honour — all, at this moment, rise before 
me. In the last words she was heard to utter, 
she forgave her seducer — he never can forgive 
himself." 

Constance uttered no scream— no shriek — 
not a sound escaped her — but she was never 
seen to smile again. With her, the season of 
hope was at an end. After an ineffectual 



124 ANASTASIA, THE BENEDICTINE NUN. 

struggle to stay in a world she could enjoy no 
longer, — without the ties of children to bind 
her to society,— without affection to console 
her, — without friendship to advise her,— she 
entreated Lord Pierrepoint to loosen his hold on 
his victim, and allow her to return into a 
Convent. This request her husband — though 
a libertine in principle, and now without af- 
fection for her, yet pleased with the admira- 
tion she excited — alternately refused and derided. 
Perceiving her entreaties were renewed with 
increasing earnestness, and incensed at Trelaw- 
ney's communication, in a moment of irritation 
he penned a challenge to his former compa- 
nion ; " sent it — fought — and fell." 

She was now left alone. There was no 
being in existence who could control her, and 
she hastened to mature her plans. On the 
Continent, she was aware, her life would be 
endangered ; but, hearing that some nuns had 
formed themselves into a society, in Yorkshire, 
she requested — and her wealth easily obtained 
for her — admission. A rigid noviciate, shorten- 
ed at her own request, being terminated, 
under the name of Anastasia she took the black 
veil. Unexampled privations, and the most 
severe penance, soon triumphed over a con- 



ANASTASIA, THE BENEDICTINE NUN. 125 

stitution impaired by disappointment and cor- 
roded by remorse — and, on the second anni- 
versary of her entrance into the Convent, the 
grave shed over her its tranquillizing mould. 

" And Trelawney," I exclaimed, " what be- 
came V — He — interrupted the stranger, with all 
the calmness of despair,—" He stands beside 
you !" 

E. 



MRS. REUBEN POTTLE. 



N 



" Should a writer single out particular persons, or point 
his raillery at any order of men who ought to be exempt from 
it : should he slander the innocent, or satirize the miserable : 
he might please a portion of his readers ; but he must be a 
very bad man if he could please himself." 

Addison. 



f 



MRS. REUBEN POTTLE. 



It was my good or ill fortune — the reader may 
word it as he pleases — to make the acquaintance, 
while in Hampshire, of Mrs. Reuben Pottle. She 
was a singular lady. I fear I shall hardly do 
her justice ; but I will attempt her portrait not- 
withstanding. A little, thin, diminutive woman — 
with flaxen hair, dressed a la Corinne — blue eyes, 
that never rested an instant on the same object — 
a small round straw hat, in imitation of Reuben's 
wife, and a broad, red morocco girdle, confining 
a yellow silk gown : — such was Mrs. Pottle, 
both in appearance and dress, on the morning of 
our introduction. Her mind was as eccentric as 
her person. Always en magnifique — calling Eng- 
land the Island, and her husband an Emmet, 
She was the terror of the men and the Vampire 
of the women. 

g 2 



130 MRS. REUBEN POTTLE. 

Having an utter abomination of learned ladies, 
more particularly of one who was for ever talk- 
ing about Athens and Sparta, the Capitol and 
the Parthenon, the reader may imagine my inde- 
scribable horror, on finding myself in for a tete-a- 
t&te with this formidable woman. My sense of 
my situation deprived me, for some moments, of 
utterance, till, recollecting that the silence must 
be broken, I began — " What a lovely morning !" 
— Mrs. Reuben looked at me in silence. " The 
first day of spring." — Not a word. Her little 
restless blue eyes twinkled on, as before. " This 
is really April weather." — Mute as death. — 
Out of patience with her continuing to play the 
dumb belle, I bowed and took my leave. I was 
afterwards told, that on that subject, I might have 
soliloquized for ever ; for Mrs. Reuben, by no 
chance, ever noticed the weather. " Foul or fair, 
we could neither alter it nor mend it. Why then 
discuss it? It was a subject fit only to be dwelt 
on by those who were unequal to talk on any 
other." So said Mrs. Pottle, 

Her husband, Reuben Pottle — or, as he was 
named, from the peculiar cast of his visage, Rue 
Pottle, was a slight, tall, conscious-looking man, 
who appeared completely cowed — a dog, to whom 
any urchin might say, " Where's your tail?" 



MRS. REUBEN POTTLE. 131 

Twice, and twice only, did I ever hear his voice in 
his own house. The first time that I was amazed 
by its sound, was at one of Mrs. Reuben's musi- 
cal parties. " My love, Sir Thomas Pickering 
has arrived at his seat ; and I request/' said she, 
in the tone of a seraph, " that the first thing you 
do in the morning may be to call on him." — " My 
love, you take very good care/' sighed Reuben, 
" that the first thing I do in a morning is to go 
to bed." And as the poor hen-pecked creature 
finished the sentence, he seemed amazed at his 
own temerity, and hastily scudded across the 
room. The other instance occurred with the 
gentlemen after dinner ; when, on a furious ultra 
liberal declaiming against the doctrine of passive 
obedience, Reuben whimpered, in the tone of a 
school-boy behind the back of his master, " Ah ! 
that's just the way with my little fool I" 

Of her hostility to the doctrine of non-resist- 
ance, Mrs. Reuben gave an instance in early life. 
She lost her mother at sixteen ; and her father, 
a respectable farmer, finding himself unequal to 
control her vagaries, brought home a second 
wife, to assist him in the task. To celebrate this 
event, a large party was invited ; and after sup- 
per — reader, 'twas in middle life — the song, and 
the laugh, and the toast went round. Miss Ruth 



132 MRS. REUBEN POTTLE. 

was called on for hers. " With all my heart," 
she said. Then rising, and filling a bumper, 
she gave, with the voice of a stentor, " Confusion 
to all mothers-in-law." — A very few weeks 
after this event, she played off a prank, which 
was attended with all but fatal consequences. 
It was the period of the murder of the William- 
sons and the Marrs. She was walking in Ken- 
sington Gardens, and, having taken shelter from 
a shower, in a shed, she amused herself, by 
inscribing, in large letters, on the wall, " I'm 
the unfortunate man who murdered Mr. Marr's 
family." The horror this sentence excited, in 
several parties which successively came to the 
shed, Miss Ruth declared to be the richest treat 
in nature. But, unfortunately, among them, 
came a lady and gentleman, the former of whom, 
from her situation, was ill qualified to contend 
with fright. She read the scrawl, and fainted. 
Her husband's fondest hopes were blighted ; 
and she herself nearly lost her life. 

But, notwithstanding all this, Mrs. Reuben 
would have done very well, had she not, unfor- 
tunately, become a radical. To this political 
twist she contrived, that every thing about her 
should contribute. An immense dog, between 
a wolf and a setter, was christened ie Reform ;" — 



MRS. REUBEN POTTLE. 133 

and I well remember my amazement, when she 
said to me, one morning, " I'll shew you my 
darling — my pet— Reform. I believe you never 
saw him ? Quite an idol of mine. Reform ! 
Reform !" — and she whistled like a cox-swain — 
When in rushed an immense mastiff, carrying all 
before him. Quite the thing for a lady's pet, to 
be sure, thought I. What will a woman make 
an idol of next ? 

Then she had an album stored with autographs, 
by no means of the choicest description. I 
noticed one from Hunt, in Ilchester Gaol, written 
in a fine large hand, and beginning, " Pen, ink, 
and paper conspire against me ;" and she pointed 
out, with unction, an illegible scrawl of Thistle- 
wood's, which she said u Alderman had 

most obligingly procured from him on the very 
morning of his execution/' 

But every thing in life, like a quadrille, has its 
finale; and that of my acquaintance with Mrs. 
Reuben was approaching. At each of the morn- 
ing calls I had unwillingly made her, I found her 
engaged on an Italian author ; and, invariably, 
at a page plentifully besprinkled with pencilled 
notes in the margin. My curiosity was piqued, 
and I inquired " the name of the favourite ?" — 



/ 



134 MRS. REUBEN POTTLE. 

" Ariosto."— " And the numerous pencil marks 
are proofs of your diligence ?" — " Oh dear, no ! 
those are the improper passages. I had them 
all marked out for me before I began." — I laughed 
immoderately, and she — never spoke to me 
again. 



E. 



THE SHORE BOAT. 



"The consolations of Religion are boundless as the 
ocean/' 

TillotsGn. 



THE SHORE BOAT. 



I have been long accustomed to hope— »even 
when events have appeared to make desponden- 
cy prudent, and hope presumptuous. There was 
a time, — when experience had shown the tho- 
rough hollowness of its specious promises, and 
amidst the wreck of fair prospects, and in the 
anguish of lacerated feelings, I almost resolved 
to be duped by its delusions no longer. 

Absorbed in gloomy reflections, I had, uncon- 
sciously, reached the ferry. — Boat, sir ! from se- 
veral voices, broke my reverie. The ferry boat 
had not arrived, and having little inclination to 
wait for its lumbering approach, the advantage 
of rowing me to the opposite shore was eagerly 
contested by the watermen. As reason could 
not decide this important matter, its determina- 



138 THE SHORE BOAT. 

tion was left to chance, and the fortunate 
winner of a prospective sixpence bore me off in 
his wherry. 

The impressions of early life are seldom for- 
gotten. In one of my first school-books, I was 
struck with a description of two opposite charac- 
ters. One could see nothing in his walks to 
awaken attention, or to give pleasure, while the 
other found sources of amusement and instruc- 
tion at every step. From that time, I determined 
to imitate the latter; and this determination 
was confirmed by Sterne's contempt for the man 
who could " travel from Dan to Beersheba and 
cry, Tis all barren." I have, therefore, constantly 
sought information and amusement from those 
against whom circumstances have jostled me, 
and have often found both under the most 
unpromising exterior. According to custom, 
I commenced a conversation with the boat- 
man. 

" At what hour does the moon rise to-night?" 
" 'Tis high water, sir, about half past seven," 
— and, after a pause— " the moon gets up about 
the same time. It gives a good light now/' con- 
tinued he, half addressing me, and half solilo- 
quising, " and I like to walk home by it, better 
than by day, or any other time." 



THE SHORE BOAT. 139 

I looked at him more narrowly than before, 
expecting to find a youth, whom love had given 
a predilection for the light of Endymion's mis- 
tress, and whose absence, some fair Naiad was, 
at that moment, deploring. One glance at his 
furrowed and sunburnt face, which was now 
turned full towards me, destroyed this hypothesis. 
I became, therefore, more curious to know the 
cause of this unusual sentimentalism, in a form 
so uncongenial ; and asked him his reason for 
this preference. 

" Because, sir, 'tis the time when I'm apt to 
forget the troubles of this world, in hope of the 
next." 

" Is your home distant?" 

u I live at Crabstone, three miles off, at the 
bottom of the bay." 

" You recollect then the effect of the tremen- 
dous storm of January, 1817. 

" Oh yes, sir, that's a sort of thing one never 
forgets. Such havoc among the craft in the 
bay, and the houses and cellars ashore; and, 
worse than all, one poor fellow killed by the fall 
of a house that the tide washed away. 'Twas 
an awful time : — there was a solid w 7 all six feet 
thick, and many yards long, heaved out of its 
place, upon the beach, as easy as I can turn the 
paddle." 



140 THE SHORE BOAT. 

I was infected by the waterman's mournful 
soliloquy. — " And is this," said I, mentally, "the 
same element, whose polished surface is now so 
calm and unruffled? Are the waves which now 
roll to the shore in such tranquillity, the terrific 
agents of this mighty destruction ? You scarcely 
expect to witness another storm so violent V 9 
said I, resuming the conversation, 

" 'Tisn't likely, sir, in these parts ; but the same 
hand that sent that may, for our wickedness, 
send another. Ah 5 sir ! the sea is a dreadful 
and a deceitful master, to say the best of it. I 
have got my bread upon it all my life-time, and 
three times narrowly escaped drowning. Once, 
and more to my shame I speak it, I was drunk 
when I fell overboard. What, if I had gone to 
another world in that condition ! but a ship-mate 
caught me by the hair of the head and saved me. 
The second time, when quite sober, I was 
knocked overboard by the jibing of the sail ; 
'tis a long, long time ago, but the frightful feel- 
ings of the time make me shiver whenever I call 
them to mind. I have been in action, and have 
heard the terrible thunder claps in the West 
Indies ; but they were nothing to the stunning 
sounds of the water in my ears. — But I was 
spared, and left to grieve for the loss of two fine 
boys, in the same devouring deep. 



THE SHORE BOAT. 141 

" Your sons, I suppose V* 

" Yes ; the eldest was one-and- twenty, he was 
lost at sea. The youngest was drowned in the 
harbour here, before he was sixteen. That very 
time, I was employed in assisting the ferry boat, 
which had upset in the gale, little thinking that 
my own poor child was then drowning so near 
me. 

" Was the storm particularly violent ? " 

" The squall was so heavy for the time, sir, 
that I daredn't keep the head of my boat to the 
wind, for fear she should be taken on the broad- 
side and upset. Bad news flies apace : I soon 
heard that my boy was drowned ; — 'twas a sad 
stroke, for he was a good son, and had never 
left me and his mother for fifteen years from the 
day he was breeched, till within seven months 
before I went aboard the ship ; — officers and men 
knew how much I had lost, for the dear lad had 
behaved so well that they all liked him. The 
lieutenant's wife cried like a baby — and 'twas 
some comfort to me to hear that he never swore 
an oath all the time he had been aboard. My 
eldest was rather wild, and I sometimes have 
heavy thoughts about him, but the Lord can work 
his own will, and that gives me hope." 

" Have you no other children?" 



142 THE SHORE BOAT. 

" Yes, sir, thank God, I have ; but 'tis a me- 
lancholy thought, when the young ones, that we 
reckoned would be our succour and support, are 
taken away before us old weather-beaten hulks. 
But there 'tis as God pleases ; we have all our 
troubles, more or less, and 'tis a short voyage to 
eternity, where I hope to meet my children 
again." 

I felt reproved by the patient resignation of 
this son of toil and sorrow, and welcomed hope 
once more to my bosom. The boat had reached 
its destination. I landed, and trebled the water- 
man's fare, in token of my sympathy in his griefs, 
and of the beneficial influence of his simple nar- 
rative upon my own feelings. 

R. 



THE END. 



LONDON : 

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